A Case of Bad Timing
by Friscogirl
Summary: Heyes' curiosity gets the better of him, and leads to life altering consequences for both himself and Kid Curry.


The town of Pinkerton, Colorado, was much like other small towns in the foothills of the Rockies.

"Except for the name," Curry muttered, as he and his partner Hannibal Heyes dismounted on the main street and gratefully stretched their backs. It was Friday afternoon, and the town was bustling with carriages and wagons carrying supplies from neighboring farms and ranches.

"Don't think the Pinkerton Agency has anything to do with it, Kid," Heyes teased, looking around him at the row of storefronts which included a dry goods store, a café and saloon. Directly in front of them was the town's bank; it looked like it was brand new, and boasted a solid wood door with brass handle and big glass windows stenciled with the bank's name. At least Heyes could be reasonably assured they'd never tried to break into it; they'd never choose a target so open to the street.

"Want to check out who the marshal is before we get some food?" asked his ever hungry partner.

Heyes shrugged. "We've never been here before, but it probably won't hurt." As Curry stepped across the street towards the wooden building labeled "Jail", some movement behind the bank's windows caught Heyes' eyes. Curious, he stepped over to peer inside. The bank should have been closed for business; it was after 3:00.

He'd just stepped in for a closer look when a powerful explosion rocked the building. The windows shattered out onto the boardwalk, throwing Heyes all the way into the street where he lay covered with glass shards and bleeding from numerous cuts to his chest and face.

Curry swirled instantly towards the noise, and shouted out in horror as he saw Heyes propelled onto the street. "Hey…Joshua!" he shouted, managing to correct himself in time. He pulled his gun instantly from his holster as he moved towards his partner, keeping an eye out for the robbers he suspected of detonating the explosion. He'd just knelt beside his partner when he saw the side door of the bank burst open and two masked men darted for horses tethered outside the door.

"Hold it!" Curry yelled as forcefully as he could, but the robbers quickly mounted and tossed a burlap bag over one of the saddle pommels. Curry fired at the duo as they spurred their horses away from him, and saw in satisfaction that he hit one of them. The man collapsed over his saddle but stayed mounted as the horses disappeared around a building behind the bank.

Curry was aware of a lot of commotion around him as he gently turned Heyes over. He swallowed heavily as he saw Heyes' blood streaked face; bits of glass stuck out everywhere; his hat had been blown off somewhere by the force of the blast, and Curry could see his scalp was bleeding as well.

"Did you see who did this?" a man's voice asked, and Curry glanced up to see a vest with a marshal's badge, and then the face of a stern, middle aged man peering down at him.

"Not exactly," Curry replied. "Think I hit one of 'em. They're on a sorrel and a gray."

The sheriff nodded abruptly and moved off, calling for men to join a posse. Another man dressed in an office suit squatted down next to Curry.

"I sent my secretary for the doctor," he said. "How is he?"

Curry shook his head. Heyes was unconscious, and he was afraid to move him. "He was right in front of the window," he said numbly.

Other townspeople had gathered around him; Curry felt their curious eyes staring at his injured partner.

"Move aside, move aside!" another voice barked, and a man not much older than Curry bent down over him. He put a probing finger on Heyes' neck, and grunted in satisfaction. "He's alive," he said to no one in particular. Then he looked over at Curry. "You know him?"

"Yes sir. He's my partner."

"Then help me carry him to my office. We need to tend to these cuts."

They laid Heyes efficiently onto the doctor's examining table, and the doctor began to gently remove Heyes' shirt and henley. "I'm Doctor Thurman," he introduced himself to an anxiously watching Curry.

"Thaddeus Jones," Curry said. "My partner is Joshua. Joshua Smith."

The doctor grunted as he pulled the garments free, releasing a cascade of glass splinters onto the floor. Heyes chest was cut and bleeding in several places. Thurman unbuckled Heyes' gun belt and pulled off his trousers, but there were no injuries below his waist. "That's good," the doctor muttered, and turned back to Heyes' chest. He quickly removed some of the larger fragments before turning his attention to Heyes' neck and face. He eased open Heyes eyelids, and frowned.

"What is it?" Curry asked worriedly.

"It looks like some fragments struck his eyes," Thurman said. He reached for a magnifying glass and peered intently into the chocolate eyes Curry knew so well.

"He ain't gonna be blind is he?" Curry could barely put the thought into words.

Thurman ignored the question, continuing to examine his patient. Heyes suddenly started to stir and let out a soft moan. Curry instantly was at his side, taking his hand.

"It's okay Joshua. You're at the doc's."

Heyes was twisting his head to the side as he fought for consciousness, and Curry felt his partner's hand tighten in his own. Thurman sighed. "I'm going to have to put him to sleep," he said to Curry. "I can't have him moving about." He stepped over to a class cabinet and removed a bottle of liquid, and then opened a drawer to pull out a cotton cloth. He quickly placed the cloth over Heyes' nose and mouth, and put a few drops of the liquid onto it.

"Breathe deeply," he ordered Heyes, not sure if his patient could hear him.

A few moments later Heyes went limp, and Thurman straightened in satisfaction. For the next hour Kid watched as Thurman painstakingly rinsed Heyes' eyes and applied a lotion to them before covering them in a gauze bandage. Then the doctor carefully removed what glass shards he could from Heyes' chest and face, and gentled wiped on a cleansing solution.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut off some of his hair to get at the head cuts," Thurman said.

_Heyes is gonna hate this, _ Curry thought as he watched Thurman's scissors make short work of Heyes long dark hair. Once the hair had been reduced to a barely measureable length, Curry could see the myriad of splinters sticking to his scalp. Thurman careful washed the skin clean, daubing the blood still seeping from some of the larger cuts and removing the splinters with a pair of tweezers. Finally he straightened, and went over to his sink and pumped some water to clean his hands.

"I think that takes care of it," he told Curry.

"What about his eyes?" Curry repeated.

Thurman pulled a sheet and blanket over Heyes and looked into Curry's worried eyes. "I think he'll be all right," he said. "I didn't see any injury to the pupils, but the whites of his eyes suffered some cuts. They'll be painful for a few days and I'll need to keep him bandaged so I can put salve on them."

Curry swallowed and nodded.

"He may have a slight concussion as well," Thurman continued. "It will probably be a few hours before he awakens."

Curry sighed. "Then I'll stable the horses and find a room for the night. Looks like we're gonna be stayin' in town for a few days."

Thurman smiled faintly. "I think that's a good bet."

The sun was down and Curry had grabbed a quick supper before returning to his partner's side. He'd spent a few minutes looking around for Heyes' hat; it had blown off in the explosion, and Curry had forgotten about it until now. He knew his partner would want it found, and finally discovered it blown under the boardwalk a few stores away from the bank.

Thurman was at his desk writing in a notebook, and nodded in greeting when Curry stepped into the office.

"No change," he said in answer to the question in Curry's eyes.

Curry stepped into the next room and suddenly remembered: hats! The two robbers had worn hats with bright silver bands around the crowns. He should probably tell the marshal.

Heyes let out a soft moan.

But that could wait, Curry decided. His partner came first.

He was sitting next to the bed when Heyes suddenly jerked, and his head moved back and forth on the pillow. "Shh," Curry said softly. "It's all right. I'm here."

Heyes began breathing heavily. "Sick," he murmured, groping about blindly.

Thurman hurried over with a bowl. "Lift him up," he ordered Curry, who had no sooner raised Heyes up against the headboard than his partner began to wretch. Thurman had the bowl ready, and directed Heyes toward it.

"I'm holding a bowl," he said to his patient. "It's the ether making you sick."

When Heyes had emptied his stomach he lay back gasping against the pillow. "Head hurts," he murmured.

Thurman wiped his forehead with a wet cloth. "Do you remember the explosion?"

Heyes' right hand suddenly flew up to his eyes. "What?" he asked, struggling to steady his breathing. "My eyes?"

Curry could hear the alarm in his voice. He took Heyes' hand away from his face, and held it in his own. "Easy, partner. You got cut up some. Doc had to clean out your eyes."

Heyes started to wretch again, and once more Thurman had the bowl ready for him. Curry saw some tears making their way down Heyes' cheeks from under the bandage as he collapsed back against the pillow.

"Have some water." Thurman placed a cup to Heyes' lips, and he took a few cautious sips.

"Thanks," he murmured. He moved restlessly under the covers. "Hurts," he admitted.

"The bank window bust open all over ya," Curry explained, not letting go of his partner's hand so Heyes would know he was next to him.

"What…?"

"Robbery." Curry shook his head, and then realized his partner couldn't see him. "Stupid idiots. Set off too much dynamite. And in broad daylight."

Heyes' hand suddenly went limp, and Curry wondered if he had gone back to sleep. "Joshua?" he asked softly, but his partner didn't reply. Curry sighed, and straightened up against the back of the chair. He felt Thurman's reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I'll stay with him overnight. You go get some rest. You look like you need it."

Curry looked doubtfully at his partner before nodding in agreement. "I'll be back first light," he said as he went to the door.

He was crossing the street from the hotel the next morning when he was intercepted by a very tired looking marshal.

"How's your friend?"

Curry shrugged. "Not sure yet. He got hit with a lot of glass." He saw the dust coated clothes on the man in front of him and realized he'd probably been out riding all night, looking for the outlaws. "You find the robbers?" he asked.

The marshal shook his head. "No, damnit. We started picking up what we thought was a trail, but the sun went down and made it impossible to keep up with'em. Spotted some blood." His eyebrows rose questioningly.

"I hit one of 'em."

The marshal's eyes narrowed. "You got a good aim."

Curry shrugged again. "But I didn't stop them, did I?"

The marshal echoed Curry's shrug. "I'm McGee, by the way. James McGee."

"Thaddeus Jones."

"What brings you to Pinkerton?"

"Just passin' through. Bad piece of timing you could say."

McGee grunted. "You could say that."

Curry suddenly remembered the hats again, and described them to the marshal. "Don't know if that'll help," he said. "But they were kinda showy. Stupid to wear'em, if you ask me. Masks on their faces but fancy hats."

"You got that right." McGee heaved a deep sigh. "Well, I'll put out the word on the telegraph. We might get lucky."

Curry wondered if Heyes would get a share in any of that luck. "Hope so," he said simply, and watched as McGee walked heavily over to his office.

"Your partner's awake," Thurman greeted as Curry came into the office with a questioning look. "I wanted him to take some nourishment before examining him again. He says he's not hungry."

Curry snorted. "That's what he always says, Doc," he said. He stepped into the adjoining room and saw Heyes was sitting slightly propped against the pillows. He started as he took in his cousin's shorn hair; he'd almost forgotten Thurman had cut it off.

"Hey, Joshua," he greeted.

Heyes turned his head in his direction. "Kid?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah. It's me. _Thaddeus."_ He pulled a chair up beside the bed. "How ya feelin'?"

Heyes sighed. "I guess I'm all right. Feel like I've been poked all over with needles. But geez, _Thaddeus_, did he have to cut off my hair?"

Curry tried to stifle a chuckle. "Your head was full of glass, partner. He didn't have a choice."

"Ah geez." Heyes sighed again.

"It'll grow back," Curry said reassuringly. He watched as Heyes carefully fingered the gauze around his eyes. "Did the doc tell you anything?" he asked.

Heyes shook his head briefly. "What if….?" His voice faded.

"You're gonna be able to see," Curry said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"But what if I can't?"

Curry hadn't heard so much fear in his partner's voice since they were kids trying to cross a swollen stream after a thunderstorm caught them unawares. He took his hand and patted it reassuringly. "Let's handle that if we need to. Meanwhile Doc says you gotta eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Joshua, you ain't had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday. I'll fetch you somethin', okay?"

"I'll wait until I can feed myself," Heyes said with his usual stubbornness.

Curry sighed. "That could be a few days. I'm gonna get you some soup or somethin' and you're gonna eat. Understand?"

It wasn't long before Heyes gave in and allowed Curry to spoon-feed him a bowl of chicken soup from the café. "I feel like a baby," he complained.

"Then stop actin' like one," his partner retorted. He was putting the empty bowl on the table next to the bed when Thurman came in with a small container of salve and some fresh bandages.

"Let's take a look, shall we?" he asked, and Curry relinquished the chair to him. Curry saw Heyes' lips tighten apprehensively as the doctor laid his hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to wash out your eyes, Mr. Smith, and put some fresh salve in them. Your eyes are going to be very blurry from the salve already on them, so don't be alarmed. All right?"

Heyes nodded, and Curry saw his fingers grip the blanket as Thurman took away the pillows and laid him flat against the mattress. Curry found himself holding his breath as Thurman carefully unwound the gauze.

"All right, open your eyes," he ordered, and Heyes blinked them open. His fingers clutched the blanket even tighter.

"Can't see much," he said tightly.

"I know, I know," Thurman soothed, began applying a rinse. "They're very swollen and red. " He took the magnifying glass from his coat pocket and peered intently into Heyes' eyes. "I can see several small cuts." Heyes grunted. Thurman finished up with some more salve, and wound a new bandage around Heyes head.

"Well?" Heyes asked anxiously.

Thurman patted him on the shoulder as he pulled up the blanket. "It will be a few days yet before I can be sure of anything."

Curry saw Heyes' lips frown. "Say, Doc," he suggested as Thurman gathered up his supplies, "I'll sit here with my partner if you wanta get some food yourself and maybe sleep awhile."

Thurman smiled tired. "That's a generous offer, Mr. Jones. I accept."

The room was quiet after Thurman shut the door and went into his office to stretch out on the couch. Curry listened to the clock ticking, and heard the sound of laughter as children ran by on the street. "Want me to read to ya, Heyes?"  
>Heyes snorted. "THAT will be a change!" He plucked anxiously at his bandage again, and Kid pulled his hand away.<p>

"Keep your hands off that," he admonished. "I'll go get a town paper for ya."

"Okay, okay." He sighed. "Thanks, Kid. I appreciate it."

Suddenly they heard a loud bang at the back of the building, and then the door to the bedroom burst open and two men lurched inside. One was leaning heavily on the other; both were wearing brown hats with silver bands; both had their handguns out, and both immediately pointed their guns at Curry when they spotted him at the bedside.

"Drop yer gun!" the man supporting his partner growled. "I can't miss."

Curry hesitated, and the injured man turned his gun on Heyes. "I can't miss," he repeated menacingly. "Yer friend here is a dead man."

Curry slowly dropped his gun onto the floor.

"Who are you?" Heyes demanded. It was terrifying not to be able to see what was going on, and he reached up for the bandage.

"Don't, Joshua!" Curry ordered in alarm. 'It's the two men who robbed the bank."

The uninjured man glared. "Don't go callin' us bank robbers. I just got a hurt man here."

Curry smiled, but his eyes were ice. "Saw you hightailin' it from the bank yesterday in those fancy hats."

"You the man who shot us?" he asked angrily. His finger twitched near the trigger, but then the injured man suddenly sagged against him and the man uncocked his gun. "Take us to the doc," he ordered. "No funny business."

He glanced over at Heyes, and dismissed him as a threat. "You there on the bed," he said, "you stay put or yer partner meets a bullet."

Thurman had been roused by the voices and was pulling on his coat as the robber shoved Curry into the room.

"You gotta take a bullet outa my partner," he demanded. "Or you're gonna have a whole lot of dead bodies in here."

Thurman's eyes darted between Curry and the two bandits, and nodded. "Of course," he said in a shaking voice. "Lay him on the table."

Once the robber did so, he turned back to Curry. "Lie on the floor," he ordered him. "I wanta keep an eye on ya. No funny business."

Curry slowly obeyed.

In the other room, Heyes carefully eased himself out of the bed. His chest complained as he got to his feet and he felt his eyes prickling from the jarring movement, but he gritted his teeth and fumbled to find his gun. He knew Curry wouldn't have put it too far away; they were both too much creatures of habit and far too cautious to leave their handguns out of arm's reach.

Finally his fingers connected with the gun belt, and he carefully drew out his weapon.

He walked barefooted over in the direction from where he'd heard the doctor come earlier, and pressed himself carefully alongside the wall until he found the doorjamb. Heyes took a steadying breath, and listened. He'd never seen the doctor's office and didn't know where things were situated; he'd have to let his ears guide him.

For a few seconds it was quiet, and he heard unintelligible sounds of what sounded like a cabinet opening. "I need to cut off his shirt," Heyes heard Thurman say.

He cocked his head more intently in the direction of the sound.

"Do what you gotta," a louder voice ordered. "And you pray to god my partner don't die under your knife."

That was enough for Heyes' keen ears. He stepped blindly into the room and thrust his gun unwaveringly in the direction of the voices.

"Drop it!" he ordered. He fired a bullet into the floor to make his point.

Curry immediately dove for the uninjured robber's legs, and pulled him heavily off his feet. The man struggled against him, and Curry grabbed hold of his wrist to bang the gun free from his hand. A bullet fired.

"What's happening?" Heyes shouted, terrified Curry had been injured, but keeping his weapon aimed towards the first sounds he heard. Around him he heard only some grunting noises, and then finally a thud.

"Got him, Joshua," came Curry's voice.

Heyes heard as Curry got to his feet, and then felt his partner's reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You can lower the gun now."

Curry turned to Thurman. "You all right, Doc?"

Thurman's face was pale, and he nodded shakily. "But his partner isn't. I'm afraid he just died."

Heyes sagged against the doorjamb, and allowed Curry to guide him back to the bed.

It didn't take long before the sheriff had arrived to take care of the details, arresting the unconscious outlaw on the floor, and agreeing that no charges would be filed in the death of his partner, who after all, had been shot while fleeing the scene of a bank robbery. The coroner, a stooped man in his 70's, came in with assistants to haul the dead man to his office for later burial. Thurman was still in shock, sitting at his desk trying to write a report but finding his hand was too shaky to do so.

Heyes' bedroom was an oasis of quiet. He was too wired from the incident to be able to sleep; Curry had fetched some coffee and was sitting companionably next to him on a chair, wishing his partner could relax.

"It would probably help if you slept a bit," he was suggesting. "Want me to ask the doc to give you something?"

Heyes shook his head. "Nah. I ain't sleepy anyhow." He took a cautious sip from the cup and lay back against the pillow. "Thanks for the coffee, partner."

Curry started to nod, but then realized Heyes couldn't see him. "No problem. Want me to read to ya?"

Heyes frowned. "It's just…."

"Just what?"

Heyes sighed. "I can't do _anything_ if I can't see. I never been like this before."

Curry patted his shoulder. "Well partner, you've sure been antsy before. This ain't so different."

Heyes snorted. "Speak for yourself." He fumbled to find the bed table so he could dispose of his cup; Curry quickly took it from him and laid it aside. "See what I meant?" Heyes asked grumpily. "Can't even take care of my coffee proper."

Curry suppressed a sigh. Heyes' recovery was going to be painful for _both_ of them.

"And geez, Kid," Heyes continued, before stopping mid sentence. Curry saw him blush.

"Geez what?"

"I gotta pee," he said plaintively. "How'm I gonna do that I ask you?" His hand clenched the bedclothes unhappily.

Curry went over to get out the chamber pot. "Listen, Heyes," he said softly. "I've seen ya naked lots of times, so this ain't gonna be anything new to me. I'll just aim you at the pot and you can do your business."

Heyes blush grew redder. "I suppose." With a deep self-pitying sigh he pushed off the sheet and swung his legs shakily over the side of the bed. Curry took his shoulder and guided him over to where he'd place the pot next to the washstand. Another deep sigh, and Heyes unbuttoned his long johns. Curry was glad his cousin couldn't see his grin as he positioned him and patted his shoulder.

"Let'er rip, partner!"

Mission accomplished.

Heyes was back in bed grumbling about his intolerable situation when Thurman came into the room. "How are you making out?" he asked solicitously. "I'm sorry I've been ignoring you. I'm not quite accustomed to being accosted by angry gunman. I confess it unsettled me."

Curry stood up with a smile. "I understand, Doc. It's no easy thing to look down the barrel of a gun."

Thurman sat down on the bed beside Heyes and reached for his wrist. "I suspect you gentlemen have seen a lot more of that than I," he said. "Mr. Smith, I want to read your pulse. Lay quietly, now."

Heyes sighed. Thurman finally laid his hand back on the covers and pulled back the sheet to take a look at the cuts on Heyes' chest. "I think these will heal nicely," he commented. "Still, you need to take it easy for a few days."

"I'll make sure he does, Doc," Curry said firmly.

"Mr. Smith, you might be more comfortable if you moved to the hotel. I'd like you to rest until you're no longer dizzy, but after that I think you'd feel better if you were moving about."

"Sounds good, Doc," Curry answered, since Heyes didn't seem to have an opinion on the matter.

Thurman got to his feet. "So here are my instructions. Bed rest for the remainder of the day. Drink plenty of water. No whiskey until tomorrow at the _earliest_. Understood?"

Heyes nodded quietly.

"You need to rinse your eyes each morning, and apply the ointment I'll give your partner," Thurman continued. "I'll supply you with clean wrappings. And I insist you keep your eyes protected for at least a week, and most likely longer. I don't want any dust or soot getting into them and irritating the cuts while they heal."

"That long?" asked Heyes plaintively. He couldn't imagine how he was going to cope without his sight for so many days.

"You don't want to risk an eye infection, do you?" Thurman asked.

Heyes shook his head. "No."

"Fine! I want you to try to sleep here this afternoon, and before you leave I'll show your partner how to care for your eyes. Come back and see me in another week and we'll see how you're doing. Understood?"

"Sure thing, Doc," Curry replied.

"Mr. Smith?"

"You're the doctor."

Thurman shared a knowing smile with Curry, and left the room. Curry resumed his place by the bed. Heyes pulled up the sheet and winced as his chest complained. "You don't need to sit there starin' at me," he complained.

It was Curry's turn to sigh. "Fine! You get some rest, and I'll go pick up our clothes from the laundry. I'll come back before sundown and take you over to the hotel."

He'd almost reached the door when Heyes spoke.

"Kid?" His voice had none of the usual Hannibal Heyes bravado.

"What?"

"I….I don't know how I'm gonna do this."

"Do what?"

"Take care of myself," Heyes finally admitted. "It's too much to expect you to handle."

Curry came back to the bed and put a comforting hand on Heyes' shoulder. "Listen," he said sternly, "I'm your partner. Your cousin. Your best friend. I'm more'n glad to pitch in for the next week or so until these eyes are all healed up. So no more worryin', okay?"

Heyes put his hand over Curry's. "Okay," he said softly. "Thanks."

Curry waited until late in the day to return, hoping Heyes would have managed to get some rest by then, and calmed his anxious nerves. When he stepped into the room, Heyes was lying on his back, and the oil lamp had been turned low.

"I'm awake," Heyes said abruptly as Curry started to tiptoe over to him.

Curry sighed. "Well it's kinda hard to tell, Heyes, with your eyes…." He decided not to complete the thought.

"Yeah," Heyes said with a hint of sarcasm. "Maybe we need to figure out a signal so ya know."

"Might be a good idea," Curry said equably. He decided he was going to need to be super human in the next days to keep his temper in check. Heyes probably deserved to have extra rein; Curry realized his partner was probably more than a little frightened over his temporary…or at least he _hoped_ it was temporary… loss of sight. Curry reached into the bureau and pulled out Heyes' clothes. "Let's get you ready to head out," he said. He discovered Heyes couldn't see him handing over the clothes and momentarily chastised himself. He was going to have to start paying close attention to new ways of doing what came second nature.

"I got your clothes here," he said and stepped over to the bed. "Want help puttin' em on?"

Heyes snorted, and pushed back the covers. "I think I've been dressin' myself since I was a child!" he protested. Curry handed the materials to his groping hands, and despite his boast, Heyes made slow and fumbling work of pulling on trousers and shirt. "Guess I won't need my handgun," he said flatly as he took the boots Curry handed him.

"Guess not. Don't worry, I've got it safe over my shoulder."

Heyes stomped his boots on and hesitated. "Um…"

Curry realized the problem and took his hand. "I'm gonna put your hand on my arm, and you hold tight and let me lead the way, all right?"

Heyes nodded with a frown. His normally confident steps were hesitant as he followed Curry into the doctor's office. Thurman helped guide Heyes over to a chair and eased him down.

"Fine!" he said with slightly forced cheerfulness. "This won't take a minute, and you'll be on your way."

The doctor once again unwound the bindings. "Open your eyes slowly," he ordered. "They will be sticky from the previous application of salve. And I expect you are still going to have very blurred vision. Do you understand?"

Heyes nodded, and blinked his eyes open. Curry saw his fingers tighten on the arms of the chair, but he didn't speak. "Put your head back," he told Heyes. "I'm going to first rinse out your eyes, then apply some more ointment, all right?"

Heyes nodded tightly, and Curry watched as Thurman gently squeezed some warm water into his eyes and then blotted them with a soft cloth. Heyes winced. "Kinda pricks," he said.

"To be expected," Thurman said calmly. He then showed Curry how to squeeze a small dollop of cream into the corner of each eye. "Now you close your eyes, Mr. Smith…" Heyes did so with another wince…"and now you, Mr. Jones, VERY gently massage the eyes to spread the ointment." Curry nodded, watching intently while Thurman worked. "Finally, wrap the eyes firmly in this gauze cloth. Do you see?"

"Yes sir."

"Fine." Thurman patted Heyes arm reassuringly. "We're all done."

Heyes nodded and licked his lips.

"You'll do this each morning, Mr. Jones, do you understand?"

"Yes sir. First thing in the morning."

Thurman handed him a cloth sack. "All the materials are in there for you. Remember; come back in a week for another exam. If you have any questions or cause for alarm, you can of course come see me anytime."

Curry took his partner by the arm. "Time to go, Joshua," he encouraged, and Heyes got to his feet and gripped onto his arm. Curry nodded his thanks to Thurman as he led Heyes slowly out onto the street. The sun had gone down by now, and the streets were quiet. _Perfect_, Kid thought. He didn't want his partner to be jostled by passers-by.

He led him carefully across the street to the hotel and then up the stairs to their room. "Hang onto the rail with your other arm if it makes you feel steadier," Curry suggested. He'd noticed Heyes had been groping a bit with his left hand as Curry led him, as if he was worried about keeping his balance or running into something. Heyes nodded, concentrating on taking the steps one by one. When they reached their room, Curry led Heyes over to the chair by the window, and Heyes sank on it gratefully.

"Okay?" Curry asked him solicitously.

Heyes nodded, and fumbled with his right hand to grip onto the table as if it were a lifeline. Curry frowned. "You ain't gonna fall, Heyes. I won't let ya."

Heyes straightened slightly in the chair, turning his head to the sound of his partner's voice. "It just feels….terrible," he admitted. "Just black all around and lots of noise and I'm afraid I'm gonna hit somethin'. And my eyes itch somethin' fierce."

Curry sat opposite him on the edge of the bed. "I can't imagine," he admitted. "Heyes, you're gonna have to trust me. You trust me with your life don't ya? I'll never let ya fall."

"I know, I know."

"It's dark," Curry reported. Heyes nodded mutely. "And I'm hungry. I say let's go down to the dining room and see what we can find for supper."

Heyes clutched the table more tightly. "Not hungry, Kid. Go without me."

"Heyes, of course you're hungry. You haven't had anything since this morning. And then it was only broth."

Heyes shook his head. "Not goin' down there."

Suddenly Curry understood. "Because of not bein' able to see?" he asked softly.

Heyes shrugged. Curry waited him out, and after a long pause, Heyes spoke again. "It's too hard to find things," he confessed. "I can't have people staring at me. Feelin' sorry for me."

"They ain't gonna feel sorry for ya, Heyes. They know what happened. Most of'em are gonna think you were pretty brave, goin' after the gunman when you couldn't see."

Heyes shook his head, not wanting to hear. "Go without me," he said.

Curry sighed. "All right. But I don't like the idea of you sittin' here all by yourself."

"I'll be all right." Heyes made an effort to lighten his mood. "I'll just sit here and think. I'm good at that."

Curry shook his head, and then reminded himself he'd have to stop making visual gestures Heyes couldn't see. Instead he stood up and patted Heyes on the knee. "You're _too_ good at that, partner, and I don't want you up here frettin'. But tell ya what. I'll do as you say and go down and get some food. And I'm bringin' something up for you to eat afterwards, all right?"

Heyes nodded.

"But I warn ya," Curry said as he opened the door, "tomorrow you're gonna get out of this room whether you wanna or not."

The next morning, Curry had been up almost an hour when he saw Heyes stir in the bed. His partner had been exhausted the previous evening after managing to eat only half of the meatloaf sandwich Curry brought to the room. He'd slept like the dead all night, which was probably a good thing. Curry could only imagine the stress he was suffering, not to mention the concussion and pain from of a myriad of sharp needles in his chest and scalp.

"Good morning."

Heyes jerked in startlement at the greeting, and sat up carefully to rest against the headboard, reaching tentatively at the bandages with his right hand. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven o'clock. I'm sitting here at the table watchin' the town go about its business."

Heyes pushed back the covers with a deep sigh. "And I gotta do _mine_, if you catch my meanin'."

"Sure." Curry repeated the steps he'd taken in the doctor's treatment room, and when Heyes had finished he led him to the water basin.

"I'm gonna pour you some water and you can freshen up a bit if you'd like. "

Heyes nodded uncertainly, and groped with his fingers to find the basin and cloth. He took off his undershirt and gently dabbed at his torn chest, and then pressed the cloth carefully against his shorn scalp. He winced. "I must look like a freak," he complained.

Curry took the cloth from him. "You look like a man who came a little too close to an Indian scalpin' party," he tried teasing, and was pleased to see Heyes give a slight smile. "Sit down here…." Curry led Heyes over to the chair he'd just vacated…."and I'll do the eye wash like the doc showed me, and we'll get you set for the day. Sound like a plan?"

Heyes didn't reply, but also didn't resist as Curry led him to the window table. He heard Curry rustling about efficiently, realizing suddenly how lonely it felt not to see what was going on around him.

"Lay your head back on the table," Curry said softly, and Heyes carefully obeyed. He tried not to tense up as his partner unwound the gauze; tried not to dread the moment of opening his eyes to swirling blurs.

"Here's the water," Curry said softly, and eased Heyes' eyelids open as he carefully washed them and then blotted them dry. Heyes blinked, but didn't speak. "And here's the cream."

For a gunman, Heyes reflected, his cousin had awfully gentle fingers. He realized he'd been holding his breath when Curry ended up his ministrations by wrapping the gauze around his head.

"Your hair is fuzzin' up a little," Kid said, trying to inject a note of cheeriness to the silent room.

"And so are my eyes," Heyes said dully. "They seem worse than yesterday."

Curry froze a moment, hoping Heyes was just in one of his black moods. "Try not to worry so much until a few more days go by, all right?"

Heyes shrugged.

"You'll cheer up when you got some noise around ya," Curry said, and handed Heyes his clothes.

Heyes stiffened against the chair. "Please, Kid. I don't wanna."

"I know you don't. But you gotta. Trust me on this one, okay?"

Heyes sighed and carefully pulled on his shirt and trousers. Curry helped him slip into his vest and boots. Finally Heyes stood up, resigned to the inevitable, and took his cousin's arm.

"You know what we should do?" Curry asked as they negotiated the stairway.

"What?"

"When we get back let's sorta pace off the room. Then you'll be able to find your way around without me leadin' ya."

"Sounds like fun," Heyes said with a touch of his old sarcasm.

"Yeah," Curry chuckled. "Heaps of it."

Heyes recoiled as Curry pushed open the door to the street and he was assaulted with invisible sounds of horses and peoples' voices and wind blowing through the trees. A dog barked, and he jerked his head reflexively in its direction. Curry felt his hand tighten on his arm.

"A dozen steps down the boardwalk to the right," he said softly. "A cakewalk."

'For you, maybe."

As they entered the restaurant they were both aware of an instant lowering of conversation as Curry guided Heyes to an empty table. "Ignore them," he whispered. "They're just impressed at how well you're gettin' around now."

Heyes fumbled for the chair before settling unhappily onto it. An efficient waitress quickly approached the table. She was carrying a coffee pot.

"Coffee for both of you?" she asked cheerfully. Heyes started. He hadn't heard her coming, so preoccupied he was by the unwanted attention of the other diners.

"Thanks," Curry said.

"Yes," Heyes added. "Please."

But where was the cup? He groped carefully with his fingers before Curry deftly wrapped his hand around the mug. "It's pretty full," he warned. "And really hot."

Heyes grunted as he sloshed a little of the liquid over his chin before he got the sense of the coffee level. He took a careful swallow, and then slowly lowered the cup to where he assumed the table to be. He'd have to form a mental picture of where it was so he could pick it up again without spilling it all over the place.

The waitress was back. "What can I get you gents for breakfast? And…." Her smile widened…"meals are on us until you heal up," she directed her words to Heyes.

"Why, ma'am! " Curry exclaimed, giving her a dazzling smile, "that's right generous. But why?"

"You got our savings back from the bank," she explained. "The whole town's real grateful. Rooms are free too. For you AND your horses."

Curry started to exchange a surprised glance with his partner, but quickly realized the futility of the gesture. "We're obliged," he contented himself with saying. Heyes nodded.

"Thanks," he said softly.

The waitress looked at him sympathetically. "Now for food…?"

"Scrambled eggs, hotcakes, bacon and a biscuit," Curry rattled off hungrily. The waitress blinked.

"Don't go overspending their generosity," Heyes nudged, and Curry blushed.

"Oh no, no! That's no problem!" the waitress said. "I'm just surprised a man can eat so much so early in the morning!"

Curry blushed. "Always had a healthy appetite, ma'am."

"Millie," she said, chuckling, and Curry favored her with another gleaming smile. "And you, Mr. Smith?" She turned to Joshua.

Heyes hesitated. He was trying to figure out what would be the easiest to eat. The trouble was, he was really hungry. He just didn't want to spill the food all over the table, and god forbid he wouldn't allow Curry to feed him in public.

"Tell you what," Millie suggested, sensing Heyes' embarrassment. "I'll make you a scrambled egg sandwich. You don't need a fork and knife to eat it. I'll add some bacon on the side. I won't scold you if you eat with your hands. Sound okay?"

Heyes smiled. Not as broadly as Curry, but it was a start. "Sounds fine."

A few minutes later Millie laid the plate carefully in front of him. "Might be practical to think of your plate as a clock," she said. "Egg sandwich is from six to twelve; bacon split on the other side." She moved his cup. "I've put your cup at 2:00."

Heyes nodded. "That's real clear. Thanks."

Millie winked at Curry, who shot her a wordless "thank you" before he dug into his plate. He kept a solicitous eye on his partner as Heyes picked up the sandwich and began to chew; the conversations around them had resumed their previous buzzing pitch, and Curry felt himself starting to relax.

Heyes probed for the coffee cup, and sipped it gratefully. "Tastes good," he admitted to his partner.

"Better'n yours, that's for sure."

Heyes snorted, and replaced the cup carefully at where he figured 2:00 was. That might be a real good way to remember how to eat, he figured. Smart of Millie to think of it.

Breakfast was a slower affair than usual as Heyes took pains not to spill anything, and the dining room was almost empty when they finally rose from the table. "Let's go check on the horses," Curry suggested. He wanted to keep Heyes from hiding in the hotel room the rest of the day. Being alone would only exacerbate his dark mood, which had lightened under Millie's friendly banter.

"Okay." Heyes took Curry's arm this time without hesitation, and they walked carefully down the boardwalk to the livery. Heyes drank in the familiar smells of horses, leather and hay.

"Here's your bay," Curry said, leading Heyes to a stall near the entrance. "Maybe you can give him a rubdown. I bet your hands can do the work without your eyes tellin' em what to do."

Heyes stepped carefully over to the familiar flank of his horse, and patted him gently on the withers. The horse turned his head to Heyes' shirt and nuzzled him in greeting. Curry stepped out to tend to his own animal. "Brush and rags are hanging right here by the gate," he informed Heyes, trying to sound off-hand.

Heyes nodded and spent a few more minutes stroking his animal. He felt comforted by the familiar sensations; the horse's silky coat, the slightly tangled mane. He'd tended his horse out in the rough in the dark before; this couldn't be much different. He reached for the brush, grateful to have something normal to occupy his mind.

A week later, Curry was in the middle of reading aloud to a tolerant Heyes an action scene between the Black Hat gang and the posse from Brimstone when a familiar voice interrupted the tale. They were sitting on reclining chairs in front of the hotel, letting the town of Pinkerton wash over them pleasantly.

"Hello, boys."

Both heads turned up to him in surprise. "Lom!"

Lom quickly took in the bandage wrapped around Heyes head and his cropped hair before leaning against the railing by the hotel entrance. "Got your telegram. Sorry to hear about your injury, Joshua."

Heyes pulled his boots off the horse rail and nodded. "You didn't need to come. But it's nice of ya."

"I wired Sheriff McGee for more details after you contacted me. And then Doc Thurman. It gave me an idea. And it's workin' out."

"Which is?" asked Heyes.

Lom looked around the busy street. "Let's go inside where we can have some privacy."

He watched as Curry carefully placed Heyes' hand around his arm and led him to the cool interior of the hotel. They found a seating area in the corner of the library next to the unlit fireplace, and sat down for a talk.

"So, Lom?" asked Curry. "What 's the plan that brings you all the way from Porterville?"

Lom waved away the hotel server who was approaching them to see if they wanted a drink. He pushed his hat off his forehead, wondering how to approach the subject. Best to get it straight out.

"The governor has been informed as to what happened here. The robbery; the shooting; the return of the money."

"He knows I didn't just kill the man, doesn't he?" Curry asked anxiously.

"Sure, sure. In fact he's real impressed. Especially at you, Heyes. Goin' after the gunman in the doc's office. Real impressed."

Heyes sighed. "Impressed enough to give us amnesty?"

It was Lom's turn to sigh. "Weeeeeelll…..not exactly. But pretty much."

"Huh?" A simultaneous question from both ex outlaws.

Lom leaned forward and lowered his voice. 'Here's the deal, and frankly, boys, it's the best you're ever gonna get. And I have papers here from the Governor officially signing off on it. So he can't go back on his promise."

A frown formed on Curry's suspicious face. "And….?"

Lom briefly touched Heyes' knee and gave it a sympathetic pat. "He was real sorry to hear about your injury, Heyes."

"Surely he doesn't think a blind outlaw can give him any trouble?" Heyes asked sarcastically.

Lom ignored the comment. "Here's his deal. Kid turns himself in…." he waved down Curry's instant objection…."Kid, you turn yourself in," he repeated with a glare at the blonde partner. "And you don't go to prison. You go to a work camp. Minimum security. For a year."

Curry snorted. "Oh I just bet. Once they have me in custody, they can do what they want."

"What about me?" Heyes asked uneasily.

"Well, in your condition the governor knows you can't go to no work camp. So here's the rest of the plan. And it's good for you Heyes, really."

Heyes felt his body tense up. He just knew he wasn't going to like this.

"There's an institute for blind people outside of Denver." Lom was talking quickly, nervous as to how Heyes would react. "It's a place where folks who can't see learn how to do the basic sort of stuff. It was set up after the war when so many soldiers came back without their sight. It's paid for by some grateful citizens as well as the state legislature. I looked into it. It sounds like a pretty good place."

"Heyes is gonna get his vision back," Curry protested. "He ain't blind."

Heyes was considering Lom's suggestion. "Thaddeus," he hissed. Curry glared at him and held his tongue.

"Why would the governor agree to this plan?" Heyes asked. "What's his gain?"

Lom sighed. "I think he's trying to figure a way to put this amnesty deal behind him in the best possible light. Hell, it's been almost three years. Every time you get close to the deal, something comes up to fire up public opinion again and the governor backs down. This time, right now at this particular moment, you two are sort of heroes, at least in the eyes of the law enforcement people who've been told about it. The governor can present this to the courts in a very positive light."

The partners were silent for a moment. Both wished they could look each other in the eyes.

"Minimum security?" asked Curry doubtfully. "What's that mean?"

"It means no chains and shackles. No breakin' rocks. You'd be workin' in a lumber camp, at least until winter. Then somethin' else."

Curry snorted.

"Governor feels confident you won't try to escape, because…."

Heyes interrupted. "Because he's got me in an _institute."_

Lom nodded. "'fraid so. Kid tries to run for it, and you, Heyes, go to prison. Even not bein' able to see and all."

"That would be hell," Curry protested, and put his hand on Heyes' shoulder. "Not sure about this deal, Joshua. Not sure at all. There's lots could trip us up."

Heyes put his hand over Curry's. "Lom?" he asked, turning his face in his old adversary's direction. "Can we talk this over before deciding?"

"Sure, sure! But think on it; a year, just twelve months, and you're free men."

Heyes got slowly to his feet. "Maybe," he said softly.

"I think we should take the deal," Heyes said heavily after they got to their room.

"What! Are you crazy?"

Curry made sure Heyes had found the window chair before he sank down on the end of the bed and threw his hat angrily to the floor.

"It may be the only way we ever get out of this hole we're in." Heyes turned toward the light he could feel coming through the window, glad he couldn't see Curry's face, which he knew would be glaring at him.

"We'd be apart a whole year!" Curry protested. "And you stuck in some institute. Hell, Heyes, Doc Thurman ain't sure about your eyes yet, and neither are you! What if they get better like we hope they do? You won't be able to fool the people in that institute for a whole year. And what's the governor to think when the year is up and suddenly you can see again? He'll feel we pulled a Hannibal Heyes plan."

Heyes turned back to his partner. "I don't like this any more than you do. But for now we gotta face facts. I can't see too good. Maybe it'll get better. But it's probably gonna take awhile. Whatever it takes, I can convince them for a year and put up with life in whatever an _institute_ is. It's gotta be better than prison. After a year we can go our own way. Governor won't know where we are." He groped over to the bed and sat down next to his cousin. "But I ain't happy about you having to do hard work without me there to watch out for ya."

Curry tried to snort, but it ended up as a choked sob. "I don't care about hard work. We done that all our lives. But…."

Heyes drew his arm around Curry's shoulder. "It's only a year. We can pull it off for a year, Jed, I know we can. And then think of the possibilities!"

Curry leaned against his partner's strong arm, and Heyes felt him slowly nod.

Lom and McGee quickly organized their departure. They would be known only as Smith and Jones, so as to avoid undue attention in their new locations. McGee was to take Curry to the lumber camp; Lom would drive Heyes to the institute. Lom said the governor wanted a second opinion that Heyes had indeed lost his sight, and wasn't pulling some sort of scam to avoid a year's punishment.

The partners exchanged unembarrassed hugs as they said goodbye. "McGee says I'll be able to write to ya," Curry said.

Heyes patted his back. "Until I can see," he whispered softly, "I'll find someone to read your letters to me. Don't worry."

"And you'll write back?"

Heyes tried to chuckle. "I'll find someone to," he assured him. "Thaddeus, it's only twelve months. Fifty-two weeks. We can count'em down."

Curry nodded, and then swore to himself. He kept forgetting Heyes couldn't see him. He wished Heyes could tear off that bandage so they could look into each other's eyes. He wished Heyes wouldn't try and sound so brave. Instead, he squeezed the back of his cousin's neck. "I promise, I won't do nothin' to botch this," he said softly.

Heyes nodded. "I'll do my best, too."

Curry turned to McGee, and Heyes let Lom help him up onto the wagon for the long ride to north of Denver. He winced at the snap of the reins as he heard Curry's carriage drive off.

"You comfortable?" Lom asked solicitously as Heyes gingerly sat down.

"Yeah. Just no unexpected moves."

Lom clicked to the horses, and they moved sedately out of town. They were pulling Heyes' and Curry's mounts behind them; Lom had promised to take care of them over the months to come. Heyes didn't speak much until they took a break at midday.

Heyes leaned against a tree, chewing thoughtfully on the sandwich Thurman had asked the hotel to pack, enjoying the soft caress of wind on his face. "You know anything more about this place I'm gonna be stayin' in?"

"Not much," Lom said. "I heard you learn some skills; how to cook and clean and take care of yourself. And I heard they teach somethin' called Braille. You'll be back to readin' in no time!" He hesitated. "You wouldn't be pulling a scheme on me would ya? Fakin' this blindness?"

Heyes laughed bitterly. "No, Lom. I can't see. And it's terrifying." Heyes felt his stomach tightening.

"It's a locked facility," Lom added hesitantly. "Just wanted you to know."

Heyes snorted. "Where would I be running away to?"

"I think it's for the safety of the …residents. So they don't wander off and get lost."

Heyes snorted again, and his stomach turned over. Just as he thought. It might not be called a prison, but that's what it was shaping up to be. People watching his every move. Giving him orders. He suddenly lost his appetite and put the sandwich down. His stomach had turned to bile.

It was late afternoon when they finally pulled up at the Colorado Institute for the Sightless. A doorkeeper hurried up the walk to unlock the wrought-iron gate so that the wagon could pull up all the way to the entrance.

"Welcome, Mr. Smith," Heyes heard a man's voice greet him. "I see you have arrived in good time."

Heyes nodded, concentrating on stepping carefully to the ground. He stretched his stiff back, and held tightly to the side of the wagon. Lom began to speak. "He don't have many clothes. Didn't have much to bring with him that would be needed here."

"That's to be expected," the doorkeeper replied. "Please, come in and rest a bit while we settle Mr. Smith in."

Heyes felt a strong hand grasp his arm. "I'll lead you inside now, Mr. Smith. My name is Jenkins. We're going up two steps and through a double door. Doctor Teasdale is waiting for you."

Heyes had little choice but to move with the man, and heard Lom taking up the rear. Once inside Jenkins led him down a hallway, and Heyes heard a door open. "Ah, this must be Mr. Smith," a voice greeted.

Jenkins turned to Lom. "If you will come with me, I'll get you some coffee and we'll sign the admittance paperwork."

Heyes felt suddenly abandoned without the support of Jenkins' arm. He heard the doctor push his chair back and get to his feet. "There is a chair two feet to your right, Mr. Smith. Why don't you sit down and I'll take a look at you."

Heyes took a few cautious steps in the direction indicated, feeling like the room was swaying around him as he stepped into the darkness. He found the back of the chair and shakily sat down.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "As Mr. Jenkins said, I'm Dr. Teasdale. I'm a specialist in vision injuries and disorders. I understand you were struck by flying glass." Heyes grunted. "Dr. Thurman sent me a detailed report. You were fortunate to find such a competent physician in such a small town."

"Thurman has been fine," Heyes finally said. "He thought my sight might come back." He could hear the tension in his voice.

Teasdale placed a glass of water in his hand. "You must be thirsty after a long ride. Drink this down, and then I'll take a look at what's behind that bandage."

Heyes gratefully drained the glass.

"There's a small table beside you. You may place the glass there."

Heyes did so.

"Now I'm going to take off this bandage and look at your eyes."

Heyes felt gentle fingers begin to unwind the cloth, and slowly started to relax. Maybe this Teasdale knew what he was doing.

"Keep your eyes closed a moment," Teasdale ordered. Heyes heard some soft clanking sounds. "I've brought a light over to the table," Teasdale went on to explain. "So let's lay your head back." Teasdale's hands guided Heyes' back into the position he desired. "All right. Go ahead and open up."

Heyes blinked at the familiar stickiness from the ointment as he forced his eyelids open. Then he felt the soothing coolness of water as Teasdale carefully poured it into his eyes and allowed it to run down his cheeks. "I have a magnifying glass, which I'm going to use to look into your eyes. I'm going to put my face right up against yours," Teasdale said softly. Heyes felt the soft breath on his face as Teasdale pressed the glass against his forehead. Several long moments passed before Teasdale straightened.

"How much do you actually see?" he asked.

Heyes blinked, and slowly straightened his head. He could be truthful with Teasdale, he decided. No more false optimism games he'd been playing to try to cheer up his cousin. "Not much," he admitted. "I can sense light. Vague shapes."

"Can you see my fingers?"

Heyes shook his head. "No. A blur."

Teasdale cleared his throat before speaking. "I'm afraid I see some corneal damage from the glass splinters and dust." he said. "I think I can assure the governor you are not pretending something you are not."

Heyes stomach lurched. He only now realized he'd been holding out hope that somehow, even if very slowly, his sight would improve.

"So this is all I'll be able to see?" he asked tightly. "I ain't going to get better?"

Teasdale placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. "You might see a very small improvement in the weeks to come. But Mr. Smith, please try to accept your changed situation. Perhaps you are not completely blind, but you might as well be."

Heyes was ashamed to feel tears building up in his eyes, and started to wipe at them before remembering not to do so. Teasdale patted his eyes with a soft cloth, and let Heyes settle back down.

"There's no need to keep the bandages on any longer," he said. "What's needed now is for you to settle in here and start discovering all the things you _can_ do, even without your sight. Most new residents find it difficult the first days to be here. So for one month I'm afraid we allow no visitors or communications. You need this time to adjust to your situation. But after then you're free to correspond with whomever you wish and visitors are always welcome."

Heyes felt numb. He heard him ring a small bell, and within moments the door opened and he heard a woman's soft voice. "Yes sir?

"Mr. Smith, this is Nurse Wallace. She'll take you now to your room and get you settled in. I confess I put a sleeping powder in your water just now to help you rest, and you're going to be very sleepy soon. We'll wait until morning to explain your surroundings to you."

Heyes felt the now familiar tug of the woman's hand on his arm as he followed her apprehensively out into the hall.

Lom looked up from his coffee as Teasdale approached him and handed a piece of paper. "Here is my written report. You can assure the governor that Mr. Smith is not pretending. He is indeed blind."

Lom sighed deeply, and nodded his head. He didn't know if he was relieved that Heyes would be honestly completing his part of the bargain, or if he was deeply sorry for his friend. But now that he knew, he vowed he'd support Heyes in whatever way he could manage.

McGee pulled up the horses several hours up the road. They'd been progressing steadily into the mountains, and were now in the dense pine forest of the western slope of the Rockies. It was a beautiful early summer day; the sky was deep blue and the air was clear. Curry would have enjoyed himself except for his worry over his partner. He wondered how Heyes was coping, and what would happen to him in that _institute. _ A doubt was nagging at him that Heyes had been lying to him the last few days, and that maybe his sight wasn't in fact getting any better. He swore to himself. Why did his cousin always feel the need to protect him?

"Time for a quick break," McGee said. He led the horses over to a small stream and let them drink, then hobbled them under the shade of some large pines. Curry idly stroked the mare's withers. He wasn't feeling very talkative.

Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a chain rattling, and turned to see McGee walking towards him with shackles and a set of handcuffs.

"I know, I know," he said as Curry began to protest. "I said no chains."

"So that was a pack of lies?" Curry asked bitterly. He'd turned over his handgun Lom, so there was nothing he could do to stop whatever McGee had in mind for him. He also knew he had to tow the line for Heyes' sake.

McGee put the handcuffs on him and dropped the shackles at his feet. "Spread your legs and stand still." Curry obeyed, feeling the unpleasant tug as McGee locked the bindings in place. "Before you go and think I've lied to ya, I want you to know this is just the rules. Prisoners gotta arrive in chains. They'll be removed after a spell."

Curry frowned. "What kind of _spell_?"

McGee grunted in satisfaction once the chains were locked, and straightened up. "Usually just a few weeks. To get you used to the notion that you're not in the camp because ya _want_ to be. You gotta accept the idea that you're a prisoner. And that there's rules to obey. Once you get the hang of them, you won't be shackled no more."

Curry grunted. _I'll bet_ , he thought.

"Come over here and let's eat some food, " McGee beckoned, knowing Curry was furious at him. "Listen, I've seen this camp. It's a far sight better than prison. They'll work you hard, but it's honest work. You'll be fed."

Curry shuffled over to the stream and sat down on a log, refusing the offer of a biscuit and jerky. For once his famous appetite had deserted him. "Ain't hungry right now," he said.

McGee nodded. "Can't say I blame ya."

The sheriff chewed thoughtfully on his biscuit for a few moments, staring off down the valley and leaving Curry to his thoughts. He didn't want to think of Heyes, who he couldn't do anything to help; he didn't want to think of his own situation. He just didn't want to think. He gave a deep sigh.

McGee motioned to the trees. "Now might be a good time to do the necessities." Curry stood up. "And I ain't gonna stare at ya. I trust you to do your business and come back here."

Curry nodded gratefully and shuffled off to the woods.

The camp was nestled off to the side of a medium-sized lake, and as they drove up Curry saw a loading dock along the river and piles of huge logs stacked up ready for shipment. A lot of men were moving back and forth, carrying tools and pieces of lumber. No chains. He felt a rush of relief. Maybe McGee hadn't been lying after all. A big wooden sign over the main gate announced they'd arrived at _Colorado Lumber Camp #12. _A man in a blue uniform with a rifle slung over his shoulder came over as McGee pulled up the horses.

"Bringing in a Mr. Thaddeus Jones."

The guard nodded. "Hold on." He stepped over to a small line shack and returned with a clipboard. "Yup. Got him here." He took a key ring off a hook near the gate and quickly unlocked the metal lock. "C'mon in."

McGee was directed to a small wooden building with a sign outside saying "Administrator." The guard beckoned to Curry to step down off the wagon, and unexpectedly reached out a hand to help him as he tripped over the shackles.

"Don't go breakin' your neck before you've even started," he admonished sternly, but Curry was grateful to be prevented from falling headlong onto the dirt. He nodded his thanks.

The guard turned to McGee. "You done your job, sheriff. He's ours now."

McGee tipped his hat and maneuvered the horses around. He glanced over to Curry as the guard was directing him into the office. "You take care, Mr. Jones. Remember, the town is grateful for what ya done."

Curry stared at him, not quite knowing what to say, until the guard nudged him through the door.

The Administrator was a tall man in his fifties, with short gray hair and a thick tidy beard. His skin was tanned from long hours in the sun, and squint lines radiated from his eyes. He stood up as Curry entered, and Curry felt his probing eyes looking him over carefully.

"So you're Thaddeus Jones." It was a statement.

Curry nodded mutely.

"I'm Superintendent Carlton. You always address me as _sir._"

"Yes sir."

Carlton reached for a folder and perused its contents, while Curry listened to the sound of saws and wagon wheels. He could feel the wind blowing through the open window of the office.

"I see you're here for a year. Governor's orders." He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes sir."

"All a bit puzzling, but we do what we're told. _All_ of us. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

Carlton nodded to the guard. "So here's what you can expect. You'll be issued a camp uniform. You will be assigned a work crew, starting off with the cutters. You will be supervised at all times. You will obey all orders given you. With me so far?"

"Yes sir."

"Take off his handcuffs," Carlton ordered the guard, and Curry was relieved when the irons were taken away.

"Your ankles will remain restrained until I deem otherwise. Is that satisfactory?"

Curry stared at the ugly leg shackles. What was he supposed to say to that question? "Yes sir," he mumbled.

"Corporal punishment is not the norm here," Carlton said. "But please understand, Mr. Jones, that you _will_ be punished if you break the rules. You should consider yourself fortunate to be here instead of in the Wyoming State Penitentiary. You will be sent there if you fail to fit in here. "

"I _do_ feel fortunate, sir," Curry said quickly.

Carlton grunted in satisfaction. "Very well." He nodded again to the guard. "Get him processed. Issue him food rations for tonight, but no work until tomorrow. Let him settle in." He turned back to Curry. "Welcome to Camp 12 Mr. Jones. I hope you'll put our time together to profitable use."

With a heavy heart, Curry followed the guard back out into the lumberyard.

Heyes was awakened the next morning by a gentle squeeze to his arm. He jerked awake in surprise, momentarily forgetting where he was or what had happened to him.

"You're in the Colorado Institute," a woman's voice said. "You're in your room. It's seven o'clock in the morning."

Heyes sat up slowly. It all came back to him. His head felt muzzy. The water! He felt around his eyes, remembering the doctor had taken off the bandage for good. _Because he no longer needed medical treatment_ Heyes thought despondently.

The woman pulled the covers off him, and Heyes realized he'd been stripped to his long johns. "No need to be embarrassed," the woman said, realizing what he must be feeling. "I'm Nurse Jenny. I've seen more than my share of unclad men."

He heard a chuckle in her voice, but couldn't manage a smile of his own.

"Come with me now, Mr. Smith, and we'll set you up with a comforting bath, and then get you new clothing and fix you some breakfast. How does that sound?"

"Do I have a choice?" Heyes couldn't help but ask.

She tugged his arm. "No," she said gently. "Not really. But don't you admit a bath will feel good after that long journey yesterday?"

The water _did_ feel welcome as he eased into it. Nurse Jenny had left the room while he completely disrobed, after pointing out where the washcloth was and leading him over to the copper tub. Heyes soaked for several minutes, listening to muted sounds of people walking down corridors and a clock ticking. He wished desperately he could see where he was, until he realized dully that that would never happen. Ever again. The door opened and he heard shoes walking across the wood floor. He looked up at an indistinguishable shape hovering over him.

"I'm Charlie," what sounded like a young man's voice greeted. "I'm going to help you out of the tub and get you dressed. And teach you how to shave yourself."

Heyes wiped himself dry with the towel Charlie handed him, and then gathered up a bundle of clothing. "Fresh long johns. Brown pants and white shirt," Charlie described. "Nothing fancy. But comfortable."

Heyes grunted and awkwardly dressed. It was strange to put on clothing he'd never seen before. Charlie directed him to a chair, and Heyes sat. "Here's some socks and shoes. Need help with'em?" Heyes shook his head, and bent to pull on the leather shoes, fumbling a bit with the laces.

He felt Charlie checking his handiwork, and then Charlie was leading him across the room. "This here's the shaving cabinet." He placed Heyes' fingers on it. "I already filled the bowl with water for ya, but in the future you're gonna do that for yourself. There's a hand pump here next to the cabinet." He moved Heyes' fingers along the top of the cabinet and Heyes detected a razor blade and a jar of shaving soap. Charlie patiently smeared lather on his face and then placed the razor in his right hand showing him how to move the blade safely along his cheeks and chin. Heyes felt a small satisfaction at being able to do the job himself after two weeks of needing Curry's help.

_Curry_. He suddenly thought of his partner, and his hand froze momentarily. Where was his cousin, and what was happening to him?

"Whoa!" Charlie grabbed his wrist and pulled it off his cheek. "Gotta pay attention, Mr. Smith. Ya don't wanta cut yourself, do ya?"

"Sorry," Heyes said softly. "I just remembered somethin'."

"Well," Charlie admonished, "one thing you're gonna have to learn right quick is to pay attention to what you're doin'. You can't afford distractions. Understand?"

Heyes nodded, and wiped his face clean with the hand cloth Charlie handed him.

"I'm gonna be helpin' you out a lot these first few days," Charlie explained. "But each day you're gonna be expected to take on more of your personal needs. You okay with that?"

"Yeah."

Charlie took his arm. "Well that's fine! I can see we're gonna get along just great."

As they walked slowly down a hallway, Charlie kept up his instructions. "So here's what you can expect. Each mornin' you'll hear a wakeup bell. That means you get yourself up and take care of your personal stuff. You get a bath once a week. No choice in that matter!" Charlie laughed at his own wit. "Breakfast follows in the dining hall. Then you'll be assigned chores. Everyone does somethin' here, you understand?" Heyes nodded, finding himself reaching out for the security of the wall and dragging his hand along it as they went. He wondered what kind of chores he was capable of performing. Charlie kept him walking. "Anyways, chores, like I said. Some free time late mornin' for special classes. Then the main meal back in the dining hall. More chores. Tea if ya want it. Finally supper. Then cleanup chores. If ya want there's readin' in the gatherin' room. There's a piano if you've a mind to play music."

"Reading?" Heyes asked, puzzled.

"Yeah, we got a group of nice ladies from town who volunteer to read from books for ya. Seein' how ya can't do that for yourselves no more."

Heyes knew Charlie didn't mean to be hurtful, but the words stabbed through him like a knife. One of the great joys he had in life was sitting down with a good book. Now that was taken away from him.

The smell of coffee announced they'd arrived in the dining room. Heyes suddenly found he had no appetite. He was still trying to grapple with his change of circumstances. Two weeks ago he was a man who could pretty much do what he wanted when he wanted; not free, exactly, what with the amnesty hanging over him; but free enough to choose which road to take and which hand of cards to play. All of that was gone.

Charlie led him over to a seat at a table. Heyes sensed other people around him, and tightened in apprehension. He reached for the table and gripped its edge nervously.

"Henry, Pete, James," he called out to what Heyes assumed were his fellow eating mates. "Welcome Joshua. He's just come to us last night."

Heyes heard a chorus of "hello" and "good morning."

"Good morning," he murmured.

He heard the clanking of silverware and the other usual sounds of people eating a meal. A skirt swished against him, and he sensed a woman leaning over him.

"This is your breakfast, Mr. Smith. Fried eggs and toast. I'll bring you coffee. In the future you'll be lining up with the others to be served. "

Heyes didn't move to touch the food. He didn't know how he could possibly eat something with a fork when he didn't know where the fork was or where the food was. He missed cheerful Millie back in Pinkerton and her scrambled egg sandwiches. The woman returned and he heard the sound of coffee pouring. She took his right hand and placed it around the cup.

"It's hot, so be careful," she said.

Heyes removed his hand. His stomach had turned to acid and he wasn't sure if he ate he could keep it down. Suddenly the man to his right spoke up, sensing his stillness. "You gotta eat, Joshua. Nobody's gonna see if you spill your food. We've all done it."

Heyes folded his hands on his lap, wishing he could just disappear from all of this. But he wasn't going to be allowed to. The skirts swished again, and the serving waitress pulled up his right hand. She placed his fingers around what he felt to be a knife. Then she reached over him and raised up his left hand and placed a fork in it.

"I know this is difficult, Mr. Smith," she said firmly, "but you must learn to do this for yourself. Your plate is directly in front of you. We always place the eggs on the left side of the plate, and the biscuit or potatoes on the right side."

Heyes lowered his wrists to the table. "I'm not hungry," he said softly.

"Do you want to be force fed?" the woman asked flatly. "I'm prepared to do that."

Heyes blushed. "No," he said. "It's just…." He sighed. "I don't think I can keep it down."

He felt her fingers relax, and then she patted his right hand. "I do understand, Mr. Smith. But you have a full day ahead, and from the looks of you, you are in need of a good meal. So let me show you how to do this."

Heyes felt like a two year old as she lifted his wrists and directed his utensils over the plate. "You have egg now on your fork, which I suggest you eat," she said. Heyes lifted the fork unsteadily towards his mouth; it was hard, when he couldn't see or feel what was on it. He was rewarded with a mouthful of egg. He forced himself to chew and swallow it, and then the waitress repeated the action. Another bite. She released his fingers. "Try it yourself."

Heyes stabbed vaguely at the dish, but couldn't figure out if the fork had connected with anything. This was impossible! He placed the fork angrily on the table.

"Try the biscuit," the woman said, unwilling to let him be.

Heyes reached out toward the plate and grunted as he found the food, and brought it to his lips, chewing it carefully, hoping it would absorb the bile in his stomach.

"Good," she said kindly. "There a mug of coffee near your right hand, if you've a mind to drink it. I'll leave you to finish your breakfast now."

Heyes fumbled for the much-needed drink, and heard the man to his right chuckle. "It was the same for me when I came here," he said encouragingly. "It took awhile, but I eat pretty good now."

Heyes didn't know what to say. The challenges to just lead a normal life seemed for the moment to be insurmountable.

They assigned him to morning laundry duty. Apparently it was the easiest job for a man new to blindness. A man who introduced himself as Nathaniel showed him how to load the sheets.

"We ain't makin' you do this work to be mean," he tried to explain. "You gotta get used to thinking with your hands and ears and not just your eyes. You can't just sit around and feel sorry for yourself. We're gonna keep you real busy. Plus, I need not remind you that you are now a ward of the state. The great state of Colorado is paying for your upkeep, and you're required to chip in."

Heyes bit back an angry retort. He'd been a ward of the state in the orphanage after his parents were killed towards the end of the Civil War. It had been the worst years of his life. Now here he was, back under the state's thumb. He knew the Governor was keeping him hostage to force Curry to do his time. And he knew the Governor wouldn't hesitate to throw him in prison at the slightest excuse. He had Hannibal Heyes where he wanted him, and Heyes didn't like the feeling at all. Worse, there was nothing at all he could do about it, and that was a new experience for the quick-minded outlaw.

As Heyes struggled to absorb the cacophony of his surroundings—the clanking tubs and gushing pumps, the busy coming and going of fellow _residents_ and staff, the cheerful chatter back and forth as the men worked- he had to remind himself he wasn't in jail, though it sure felt like it. The sheets were awkward and heavy, and he had to figure out the proper way to fold them and pile them up to be taken outside to be dried. At least no one reprimanded or criticized him; the instructions were firm, but gentle. But not working was not an option.

He noticed a clock struck each hour, and the chime was surprisingly reassuring. It grounded him in the morning. Let him know where he stood with his tasks. It had just struck eleven when Charlie came for him.

"You done enough for now," he said as he touched his arm to announce his presence. "C'mon." Heyes straightened with a grunt of relief, and stretched his back.

"Where we headed?" Heyes asked as Charlie began to propel him speedily down a long corridor.

"Back to your room. We're going to pace off all the spaces so you know where everything is. It's your new home; you need to be comfortable there."

_Home_, Heyes thought. That was a dismal thought. He suddenly realized Charlie had continued to chatter to him, but he hadn't been listening. "I'm sorry," he interrupted. "What were you saying?"

Charlie started walking him around the small room, having him feel all the walls, where the doors were, where the bed stood, the clothes cabinet, the small table, the oil lamp (though Heyes wondered what need he would have of it); he pulled out the chamber pot and showed him where to stow it under the small table with a water jug. Then he led him out to the corridor to pace off the steps to the bath facility, where there was also a privy.

The numbers were running all over themselves in Heyes' head, but Charlie made him walk back and forth, pick up and put things down, over and over again until he was satisfied Heyes knew his way around his quarters.

"Good job!" he praised when he finally allowed Heyes to sit on the bed. "You'll probably forget a lot of this by tomorrow, so we'll go over it again."

"And again," Heyes said in resignation.

"It will become second nature to ya," Charlie encouraged. "Soon you won't even have to think about where you're goin'. Your body will know."

Heyes shrugged. Suddenly he was very tired. He hadn't been moving around much since the accident; most of the days had been spent sitting or sleeping as he recovered from the concussion.

"Why don't ya rest up a bit now," Charlie suggested, noticing the tightness around Heyes' mouth, and knowing how other new "residents" were equally exhausted by the first simple tasks. "I'll come back for ya when it's time to eat."

Heyes lay back on the pillow and let himself disappear into asleep.

For Curry the first day passed much more stressfully. He was awakened by a loud banging on a metal pot, and staggered from his bunk to stand at attention with the other two dozen men in the sleeping facility. Workers weren't allowed to speak until breakfast; Curry had been told the first order of business each day was to neaten his bunk, put on his uniform and take care of his personal needs before standing at the end of the bed and waiting for the guard to march him in line with the others to the breakfast room. Curry noticed only one or two other inmates in leg shackles; it seemed McGee hadn't been lying- shackles were not the normal punishment here.

Breakfast was better than he expected; oatmeal mush, which Curry actually enjoyed, a biscuit and a piece of bacon. Thin coffee and milk. The next meal wouldn't come until the end of work, twelve hours later.

Curry was assigned a crew of eight men who were logging some mile or so above the camp. They were all loaded into a work wagon stacked with saws and axes, and a guard took over the reins to take them to the area of trees marked for cutting. The work was hard, especially since Curry's muscles weren't accustomed to pulled the long arced saw or hacking away at the smaller branches once the tree was felled. The men were allowed to talk amongst themselves; mostly idle chatter about the work, the weather, and the food. Nothing of interest to Curry, and he found himself missing Heyes' far more interesting stories.

Heyes. He hoped his partner was going to be okay. He hoped his eyesight really was going to improve. He hoped. He hoped he wasn't going to go crazy not being able to read or play poker or do most of things that sparked his zest for life. _Thirty days_, Curry considered, before he could hope to even hear from his cousin. He hoped Heyes would find a way to get word to him. He knew Heyes wouldn't be able to tell him _everything_, since someone else would be doing the writing for him. But any word would be better than not knowing, and thinking, and worrying.

Meanwhile there was plenty of work to do before the day was over.

After two weeks Curry was called back into the Administrator's office, where he stood at attention and waited, hoping he hadn't done something to get him punished. He'd promised Heyes he'd obey all the rules no matter what. He thought he'd been doing so.

Carlton strode in and tossed his hat onto the desk. "Good afternoon, Jones," he greeted in a friendly voice, and Curry let out the breath he discovered he had been holding.

"Afternoon, sir," he said politely, and bowed his head as was required by the rules.

"I've got welcome news for you today," Carlton continued, pleased at Curry's respectful countenance. "The shackles are coming off."

Curry felt a quick rush of relief. He hated the nasty chains, tugging and pulling at his ankles and tripping him up as he tried to do his work. They were more than a reminder of his new position in life; they hurt constantly, like a snake clamping its teeth constantly onto his flesh.

"Thank you, sir!" he said with a smile. "I really appreciate it."

A guard Curry hadn't seen before came in and unbolted the metal, and Curry stretched his legs apart gratefully. _Life's little pleasures_, he thought.

"Thank you," he said again.

"How're you settling in here?" Carlton wanted to know. "You may look up."

Curry met Carlton's gray eyes. "Fine, sir. Work's hard. But fair."

Carlton grunted. "It's harder for those that have never worked a spit in their lives," he commented dryly. "I can see you're a man who isn't afraid of working up a little sweat."

"Done plenty of that, sir."

"What kind of work have you done, Jones?" Carlton asked. He was impressed by Curry's combination of self-assuredness and respectfulness. "There are other jobs here that might be a better fit for you."

Curry considered. "Sir, I've droved, rode horses, farmed, done livery work; I learned some blacksmithing once and was pretty good at it. I'm good with horses. Not good with figures." He allowed himself an embarrassed grin. "Books were never my strong suit." Carlton chuckled. "I admit I've gambled some. Lessee, I've done fence work, dug wells. Sir, I can't recall exactly all I've done."

Carlton pulled his pipe out of his desk and stopped to light it. His perusal of his newest inmate was friendly.

"Well, Jones, let me put my mind to thinking of other work you might do around here. Mind you, I'm not tryin' to lighten your load. The whole purpose here is….?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting for Curry to finish the sentence.

"To accept punishment for breakin' the law and pay back the state for my crimes. " Curry said promptly. "Speakin' of which, in those list of accomplishments, I shoulda mentioned robbery. Usin' a handgun."

Carlton grunted. "Not too smart for a man of so many talents, was it?"

"No sir."

"Well, Jones. You're just settling in here, so I'm not cutting you any breaks too soon. There are many weeks still to spend together and I want you to think hard about what you did that brought you here."

"Yes sir," Curry said. "Already doing that, sir."

Carlton nodded. "All right. You go back to your cutting team, and we'll see what follows. Keep up the solid work."

"Thank you, sir."

Curry stepped out the door with a heavy sigh of relief.

**July**

Heyes had grown adept at the early tasks he'd needed to learn. As Charlie had promised, he could find his way around his immediate area without stumbling about too much. Even eating was getting easier. Gradually the Institute piled on more tasks; he had laundry duty each morning; then a few hours with other residents learning to read Braille; kitchen cleanup followed the main meal. He was left on his own for a few hours in the early afternoon, but after the tea pause he was required to help prepare the supper. Meanwhile he was told to keep his bed straightened; once a week he was required to mop the floor of his room and see that his clothes were sent to the Institute's laundry.

_I'd make someone a good little wife_ he thought sourly one morning as he finished tucking in the sheet around the mattress. The bell rang, which meant it was time to gather for breakfast. Heyes sighed. Another day of blurs and groping around to do the simplest of tasks. He made his way carefully down the hall, almost unconscious now of the steps and turns required to find the room. He picked up his plate and lined up with the other men at the serving table where the food was dished out.

"Pancakes this morning, gentlemen," the serving woman…a cheerful black woman who said her name was Louise…called out. "Syrup if you want it. Remember, it's Sunday."

_Sunday._ He'd completely lost track of what day it was. He knew he could go to church this morning if he wanted to; much as he'd enjoy the change in routine, he couldn't bear the thought of the townspeople staring at him as he shuffled into an unfamiliar place with a dozen other blind men. No way. No how.

He'd taken to eating at the same table with the same residents. He'd learned Henry was in his fifties and had lost his sight when a blasting cap blew up in his face working in a mine. Pete was blinded when a jar of chemicals he was reaching for in the factory spilled over his face. They were congenial enough; they'd been at the Institute several months, and they both had families to return to. They told Heyes they were trying to learn enough so they wouldn't be a drag on their families to take care of; neither intended on returning to work.

Heyes didn't share much about himself, only enough to be polite. He told them about the botched bank robbery, which had them murmuring about what a piece of bad luck that was. He told them he'd been doing some ranching and riding from town to town looking for work in a bad economy. They agreed times were tough.

"Do you have any family?" Pete asked one morning.

Heyes shook his head, and then remembered he had to avoid non-verbal responses. "Parents were killed in the war," he said without filling in the details. "I have a cousin."

"That's good then, " Henry enthused. "You two close?"

"Oh yes," Heyes said. "We're very close. But he's far away."

Heyes felt their sympathy but the men respected his privacy when he didn't add more information, and returned to their meal.

Now Heyes carefully finished up the pancakes and bacon and reflected on what he was going to do to pass the slow hours of a Sunday afternoon. He could sense the sunlight pouring in the dining room window. It would be nice to go outside and get some fresh air for a change.

He remembered the door was somewhere down the corridor, and inched his way carefully along the wall, counting off the steps he was taking so that he'd have less trouble getting back. He didn't feel like company; he hoped nobody would stop him before he could leave the building.

He felt a breeze on his face, and calculated that might lead to a door, so he headed more confidently in that direction. Sure enough, he felt the door handle and gave it a careful turn. He wasn't sure what it opened onto, but it had to beat the stuffy library or the emptiness of his own room.

"Can I help you, Mr. Smith?"

It was the porter.

"I was hopin' for some fresh air," Heyes confessed. "Is there some place to sit down out here?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is. You've entered the kitchen vegetable garden. At the end of it there is a small grove of fruit trees. There is a bench under the tree if you'd like me to direct you there."

Heyes smiled. "Thank you! That would be perfect."

"It's about thirty steps," Jenkins, the porter, instructed him. Heyes felt the crunch of gravel under his shoes as he stepped along the path; he smelled freshly turned earth and the sweet scent of herbs. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed being outdoors until just now, and sat gratefully down on the bench Jackson led him to.

"Will you be all right now, sir?"

Heyes nodded. Jenkins, at least, could see a gesture. "Thanks."

He heard Jenkins's footsteps crunch back down the path, and let out a sigh of relief. For several minutes he just listened, amazed by the variety of sounds he could hear at one time; wind through the trees, several different birds cheeping; it sounded like something dropped from a tree. An apple? He heard some scurrying over the leaves. A squirrel? He let his mind do the imagining. Pretty soon he'd created a tranquil vision of neat beds of vegetables and a picket fence, and apple trees dripping with fruit.

And then suddenly it hit him. He was never going to see the real world again. His eyes were never going to get better. He was always going to need the help of others; he'd never ride free again on horseback and choose the road ahead. He lurched to his feet as the emotions rose up in his chest, and staggered through the trees trying to get control of himself. He hadn't taken but a few steps when he collided with a tree trunk, and he flung his arms around it and laid his head against the bark, giving in to the sobs rising in his chest. He cried like he had never done since he was a very small child. Cried for the foolish mistakes he'd made in his life; cried over the irony that he had been blinded by the very kind of act that had made him an outlaw. He cried until he had no more tears; just a dry emptiness inside. Slowly he straightened, and leaned his back against the tree trunk to try to catch his breath. He suddenly just wanted to quit. He didn't _want_ to learn to live life as a blind man. Kid would be better off without him.

Hannibal Heyes sank to the ground and brought his knees up to his chest and rested his arms on them. He was so very tired. How could he just make everything _stop?_

"Heyes?" a soft voice interrupted his morose thoughts.

He jerked his head up towards the voice. "Lom?" he asked in surprise, and then suddenly realized his face was streaked with revealing tears. Embarrassed, he rubbed his shirtsleeve across his cheeks and hoped Lom hadn't been there long. He hadn't heard him coming down the path, so maybe…

"Why don't we sit on that bench?" Lom said quietly, and Heyes felt his hand as he helped him to his feet. Lom must have taken another route to the garden; that's why he hadn't heard him.

Heyes was trembling from spent emotions as he sat down, and rubbed his fingers out of old habit through what little hair he had. He heard Lom's soft chuckle as his friend sat down beside him.

"Your hair is comin' back in," Lom said. "That must feel better."

Heyes nodded. He took a shaky breath and tried to find his voice. "How'd they let you in?" he asked. "Thought I wasn't allowed visitors."

"It's been a month. The settlin' in time is over. I came as soon as I could."

"Oh." A month? He'd been so focused on learning the day-to-day skills, the weeks had slipped by. One month down. Could he really put himself through eleven more to come?

"How are ya, Heyes?" Lom asked. He thought Heyes looked like he'd been eating and sleeping enough, though he was deeply shaken by the despondency he'd just witnessed.

Heyes shrugged. "I'm not Heyes any more, Lom. Hannibal Heyes died in that bank explosion."

Lom put a hand on Heyes' shoulder and squeezed. "Maybe the old Hannibal Heyes did. You gotta find out what kind of man the _new _Hannibal Heyes is gonna be."

Heyes shrugged disinterestedly. "Best just call me Joshua for now. Can't have any slips. Can't have anyone finding out who I am, askin' questions of the governor. Can't have the governor switching his word on the Kid, now that he has Kid Curry in his clutches."

"The governor can't do that, _Joshua_," Lom said firmly. "His word is on paper in the safe of the state attorney general."

Heyes ran his fingers over his head nervously, hoping Lom was right.

"Have you heard from Thaddeus?" he asked hesitantly.

Lom started to shake his head, then remembered Heyes couldn't see him. It was almost impossible to think of his old friend as blind. Heyes' brown eyes still looked the same, though the twinkling humor was noticeably missing. "No, I ain't."

"I miss him," Heyes admitted.

Lom could only imagine how lonely Heyes would feel in this place. "You makin' any friends here?" he asked solicitously.

"Not interested."

"Whatcha been up to?" Lom tried to steer the conversation to more neutral ground. Heyes filled him in briefly on what he was learning. Then he snorted.

"Guess I could find work in a laundry…after….." His voice faded. What kind of _after_ was there for him any more? Who would hire a blind man? And did he really want to spend his life folding bed linen or peeling potatoes?

Heyes was horrified to feel tears welling up in his eyes. He knew it was because this was the first time he'd had the chance to talk to a friend since coming to the Institute. He hadn't realized how empty and lonely he'd been feeling, until now. And he knew when Lom left he'd only feel worse. He wiped angrily at his eyes and turned to look away from friend.

"Joshua," Lom said carefully. He suddenly realized he had to pull Heyes back from the abyss he'd fallen into. After what he'd just witnessed, he worried Heyes might be thinking of taking his own life. "Joshua, Thaddeus is counting on you to spend the rest of his life with him."

Heyes shook his head angrily. "No, Lom. Thaddeus thinks Hannibal HEYES will be there for him. " He looked back at his friend, wishing he could see more than the blurry shape of his face. "Can I tell you a piece of truth? Thaddeus thinks my eyes are getting better. I let him think that," he said hurriedly, before Lom could ask a question. "I let him think I was pulling off a scheme by coming here and pretending to be blind so that the governor would give us that year and then our freedom. Thaddeus thinks…." Tears welled up in his eyes and he brushed them angrily…."Thaddeus thinks I'm gonna be able to see when this is all over."

"Oh, shit Heyes," Lom said. "Why'd you lie to him?"

Heyes sighed. "'Cuz he'd never have taken the deal if he didn't think there'd be something good for me, too at the other end." Heyes suddenly clutched for Lom's jacket. "And you can't tell him, Lom! You gotta promise me!"

Lom took Heyes's hand in his own. "You ain't bein' fair to the Kid," he said. "He's gonna wanna be with you if you can see or not."

Heyes hung his head. "First he's gotta get through a year of hard labor. He can't mess things up worrying about me. He's gotta think I'm just fine."

Lom sighed. "I think truth is always better."

"Maybe," Heyes conceded. "But this is how it's gonna be."

"Let's walk," Lom suddenly said, and got to his feet. Heyes slowly joined him, wiping the dirt off his pants from when he'd collapsed under the tree.

"I don't know my way around outside here," he admitted. "Haven't _progressed_ that far." His voice sounded bitter even to his own ears.

"Then put your fingers around my arm and I'll show ya the way," Lom said, and started out carefully across a big expanse of lawn. "It's nice here," he commented. "Big green field. Over yonder is a barn. They must have horses."

Heyes perked up. "Let's go there."

Lom nodded agreeably, then remembered. "Sure thing."

Inside the barn he led Heyes over to a stall where a red mare was munching contentedly on some hay. The animal whinnied in greeting and came over to nuzzle Heyes' shirt, looking for a treat. Heyes patted the silky nose, and Lom could see him relax.

"Hear me out, will ya?" he finally said, watching as Heyes continued to stroke the horse's mane and pull on its ears. Heyes nodded. "You know I saw ya back there, dontcha?" Another hesitant nod, and Heyes stopped patting the horse. He hung his head. "So things are pretty rough." Lom sighed. "And I can't imagine how rough. But what you're doin' here is important; you're preparin' yourself for the next steps in your life, can you see that?"

Heyes gave Lom a tight smile. "You're soundin' like a preacher," he teased.

"Well damn it, maybe I am! But listen up, will ya? You're life ain't even half over, and you will agree it's a miracle you've survived as long as you have, what with the _career path_…." he chuckled…."you chose for yourself. Now it's time to put together a new Hannibal Heyes. New and better!"

Heyes snorted, but kept his mouth shut.

"You got a lot of skills, Heyes. You just gotta find a way to apply them when your eyes can't pitch in to help."

"How can I do that, Lom? I just don't see how." Heyes grimaced at his unintentional pun. He felt Lom's pat on his shoulder, and turned his attention abruptly back to the mare to hide the unwanted tears welling up again.

"Maybe now you can't. But you will. I know you, Heyes, and you _will_ figure out a new plan. Your cousin is expecting that from you."

Heyes buried his head in the mare's mane.

**August **

"Mail call!" Curry kept his eyes down on his food to hide his envy from the excited looks on the men around him. Each month prisoners were allowed to receive letters and parcels from their families or friends. Curry had never enjoyed the privilege. So he was startled when he heard his name called out.

"Thaddeus Jones! You out there, Jones?"

Curry leapt to his feet so quickly he tumbled his chair over. The other men laughed indulgently at his eagerness. "Here!" he shouted, and stared hungrily at the envelope given to him by the smiling guard. He didn't recognize the handwriting; he prayed it was from Heyes.

He went over to the window where he could have some privacy and read by the brighter light coming in from outside, his meal completely forgotten. His fingers were shaking as he tore open the flap.

_Thaddeus…._Heyes began. _You ain't going to have any trouble reading this, since it's in the handwriting of Miss Agnes from the Aid Society. _ Curry grinned; the script was tidy and so very far from Hannibal Heyes' almost illegible scrawl. He was glad the lady at least wasn't changing his words to make them more grammatical; otherwise it wouldn't sound like his partner. He read hungrily. _Things here are pretty good. I'm learning a lot. You'll be pleased to know I can handle a knife and fork almost without spilling food all over me, so you won't have to spoon feed me any more. _Curry smiled. He'd give anything be sitting in front of Heyes right now, even if it meant forcing soup into his stubborn cousin's mouth. _So far they've decided my best talents are in the laundry division. Just so you don't think I'm sitting here doing nothing all day while you'll working so hard, they have me at chores all the way to sundown. When I ain't working I'm eating and getting my beauty sleep…so stop worrying. My hair's growing back, slower'n I want it, but growin.' _Kid's smile broadened. _I'm just starting to learn this new kind of reading with raised dots. It's kinda hard, but the teacher says I have sensitive fingers, so she expects I'll learn pretty quick. _Oh yeah, Curry thought. If the teacher only knew just what those sensitive fingers had been up to with bank safes! _ I sure want to be able to read again, Kid. I really miss it. I asked the ladies to arrange a book to send to you, so keep watch for it. I ain't there to read to you, and I know you miss the tales of the Black Hat Gang. _Curry chuckled. He really did miss Heyes' custom of reading to him at night in some noisy hotel room. It was something to look forward to. _Not much else to report, _ Heyes went on. _They just started trusting me with sharp knives, so now I'm doing a lot of peeling potatoes and such. Maybe they'll teach me to make coffee. I miss you, cousin._

Curry smiled, then sighed and folded the letter carefully back into the envelope. He knew he'd read it several more times; it sounded just like Heyes…he could almost hear him saying the words out loud. As he put the envelope in his pocket, an unwelcome thought struck him. Heyes sounded like he really _was _learning new things and taking some pride in it. He frowned. Maybe Heyes wasn't seeing as well as he'd let on? He stared out the window, lost in thought.

He looked up as a guard approached him. "You got your restrictions lifted, as ya see," he said. "If ya wanna write a letter to your family, today's your day. One letter a month. Can ya write?"

Curry grinned. "Yes sir. And I'd like some paper and a pencil please."

When Heyes received his reply two weeks later, he felt a load lift off his heart. He was pacing in the common room waiting for Miss Agnes to read the letter to him; it had been burning a hole in his pocket since he received in an hour before.

_Joshua. _ She cleared her throat self consciously, and then ploughed on. _ Hello from the high country. _ Heyes smirked. Kid was trying a little too hard to sound poetic. _Really glad to get your letter and know you're well. Nice and cool up here in camp. Sure there's guards and rules and such, but it don't feel as bad as jail. Food's all right. Actually miss your awful coffee. _Heyes smiled again. He wondered how long it would be before he had the chance to annoy his partner again with his morning brew. _I'm working with a cutting crew. It's hard but I can do it. _ _I've learned all about different kinds of saws and axes. So far haven't cut any fingers off. I'm discovering muscles I never knew I had until they started hurtin'. Makes for good sleepin' at night. That and the mountain air. I'm doin' my best here, Joshua, so I don't want you worryin' about me. You take care of yourself and mind your manners. I'm only allowed one sheet of paper, so this is it for now. Miss ya._

Heyes blinked back the tears pricking his eyes and pictured his cousin in his mind. He smiled.

**September **

Teasdale called in Heyes the first week of September. The doctor required monthly physicals of all the residents, and he liked to keep a close eye on their progress. Heyes undressed and submitted to the examination, and was then asked to sit down across from Teasdale's desk.

"Excellent health," Teasdale reported. "And I see you've put on a few pounds, which is a good thing."

"Yes, sir." Heyes heard the doctor leafing through some papers.

"Are you noticing anything different in your eyesight?"

Heyes shrugged. "No. Not really. Should I be?"

Teasdale cleared his throat. "No, probably not."

Heyes sighed. "Yes, sir."

"I'm hearing very positive reports on your progress," Teasdale continued. "Are you feeling more settled now?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Heyes was determined to put on a polite front, even though he was rankled by the man's complete power over him.

"And your work duties?"

Heyes shrugged. "I do what I'm told, sir. It's been made clear to me the purpose behind them."

Teasdale cleared his throat again, sounding a little embarrassed. "Yes, to be sure. I hope you understand, Mr. Smith, that there is no free ride here. You need to take advantage of what we can teach you so that you can lead a useful life."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Another shuffle of papers. "Would you like a change of job assignment? Is there something you feel you are more suited to?"

Heyes hesitated. How could the doctor think he was just suited to peeling potatoes and folding wet linens? "Well, sir, since you ask. I've spent almost my whole life outdoors. Around horses. I know you have a horse barn. Could you put me to work there maybe instead of the laundry? I might be more…useful."

Heyes could feel Teasdale's eyes on him as he considered the request. "We've never posted one of our residents there, since so many come without the proper skills to be around potentially dangerous animals. Do you feel you would be comfortable working around horses without the use of your eyesight?"

"Well, sir, I've worked on horses in the black of night when I couldn't see the hand before my eyes, if you catch my drift. I'm sure I could manage, if your stable man would be willing to put up with me."

Heyes heard Teasdale snap his folder shut. "Well let's just see, shall we?"

Hiram Kefauver ran the stable. He was a bowlegged former cowboy who'd been only too glad for the simpler work at the Institute after a lifetime on the high plains of Montana. When he shook Heyes' hand after Teasdale performed the introductions, Heyes could feel the strength in his fingers and the calluses from hard work.

"You got a riding man's grip," Hiram said with a grunt of satisfaction. "I reckon you might be good for somethin. Leave him to me, Dr. Teasdale. I thank you sir for the extra help."

Teasdale nodded and left the stable.

Hiram grabbed Heyes none too gracefully on the arm; he was familiar with how the staff worked with the blind patients and knew how they needed guidance at first moving around unfamiliar areas. "You're gonna need working trousers," he noted. "Make sure they fix you up proper. And boots. Understand?"

Heyes grinned and felt himself losing some of the tension that always seemed to be with him. He'd grown up around men like Hiram all his life, hard working, no nonsense men. He sensed he'd be comfortable here. "I have boots. Might need new trousers and a shirt."

Hiram grunted. "You sure as hell will. Plenty of mud and manure in here."

Both men chuckled.

He spent the next hour carefully walking Heyes around the barn, putting his hands on the racks of equipment, having him feel his way around the various stalls and food storage bins. "We got four horses; two mares, two geldings." He proceeded to introduce Heyes to each animal by name.

"I already met Molly," Heyes said when Hiram put his hand on the mare's familiar neck, delighted when she recognized him with a gentle nuzzle. "We're old friends now."

"Good. She ain't particular to everybody."

When they got to the last stall Hiram put Heyes' hand on a saddle hanging over a rack. "Show me what you can do, Joshua," he ordered. "If you know horses like you say you do, this should be easy for ya."

It wasn't as easy as Heyes thought it would be, but he got the saddle blanket, saddle and bridle on without too much difficulty. The gelding was patient as he groped around at times; they both heaved a sigh of relief as Heyes straightened from cinching the saddle with more than a little feeling of satisfaction. The familiar work came as a huge consolation after having to learn so many unfamiliar tasks; it was good to know he could still do the things he was most comfortable with.

He heard Hiram moving about the gelding checking Heyes' work, and was relieved when Hiram grunted in satisfaction. "Pretty good, pretty good," he muttered, which in Hiram's world was high praise. He came back to Heyes, and nudged him towards the horse. "So let me see you get aboard old Samson here and I'll let him walk you around the corral so I can see if you can sit a horse."

Once he found the stirrup, Heyes mounted easily, and grinned as Hiram led him from the barn. This was one thing he could do better than most men! He'd never known how much he could miss the feel of a horse beneath his legs until that moment as they stepped from the barn into the late summer sunshine. He felt he was rediscovering a part of him he thought he'd lost forever.

**October**

_Hi Thaddeus. _ Curry took a swallow from his canteen and settled back against a fir tree. The crew was taking a short break from hacking the small branches off the large tree they'd just felled. It was the third time he'd read the letter, but he still savored every line. _You'll never guess who surprised me with a visit. Mr. McCreedy. He claimed he was in Denver on business and it was no bother to come by, but I was grateful anyhow. He says business is good and is lookin' forward to finding more work for us when the year is up. Don't know how I can do much, but I know you'll be busy at least. Somethin' to think about anyways. _Curry pursed his lips thoughtfully; McCreedy always joking referred to Curry as his nephew, even though there was no relationship between the two men. He often found crazy jobs for him and Heyes, which more often than not brought them too close to comfort to breaking the rules of their amnesty. But the man paid well; he was greedy, but willing to pay for what he wanted done. Why did Heyes think he wouldn't be able to take on his share of the work? Damn, but he wondered what was going on with his cousin's eyes! _The apple trees all dumped their fruit, _ Heyes continued. _I was put to work peeling and chopping for the best part of an afternoon, and then the cook made a bunch of apple pies. Never remember pies smelling so sweet as they did. I ate an extra big piece in your honor. _Curry chuckled. _I'm still struggling with the reading and it makes me mad I can't pick it up quicker. Teacher says it's because I'm still doing hard work in the stables, which makes my hands rough. But I ain't giving that work up for a king's ransom. It's what keeps me who I am. Thinkin' of ya, partner. Stay well._

They were finally heading back to camp, and the crew was looking forward to a hot meal and stretching out on their bunks. Curry didn't see what spooked the horses, but suddenly the one on the right reared up with a terrified whinny and slammed into its wagon mate. The guard holding the reins was caught unprepared, and Curry saw one quick glance of the reins slipping through the man's hands and then the wagon was careening down the mountainside out of control. The stack of logs being pulled behind them on chains jolted up in the air and then broke loose, sending tree limbs smashing in all directions. Curry felt something hit his back and then the wagon was tipping and the other men in the crew were shouting in terror, and then it went black.

He didn't think he'd lost consciousness for too long, because when he opened his eyes he could see the upside down wagon some dozen feet away from him down the hillside, and its wheels were still rotating uselessly in the air. He heard some undistinguishable groans from the other men, and he took a steadying breath. It didn't feel like anything was broken, but the wind had sure been knocked out of him.

Then he heard Hardin's voice, and he watched through half closed eyes as Hardin stood bouncing nervously from foot to foot, holding the guard's rifle aimed directly at the defenseless man who lay on the ground half under some undergrowth, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Now I gotcha," Hardin was crowing.

Curry stayed quiet as he assessed the situation. There was no sign of the wagon driver, and it was likely he'd been tossed over the side somewhere along the mountain. The other men were stirring and starting to sit up, unclear of what was going on.

"Put the rifle down," the guard ordered with as much authority as he could muster against an angry man who looked to have every intention of doing him harm.

Hardin sneered. "You can't make me. Looks like yer leg's broke. I've been waitin' for this chance ever since I got here; waitin' for the time you weren't payin' enough attention and I could get the jump on ya."

He cocked the rifle and Curry pulled himself painfully to his feet.

"Stop it right there!" he shouted, and Hardin swirled toward him in surprise.

"You're the one to stop it!" he said. "Case ya ain't noticed, I got the gun."

Curry looked around at the other men who were frozen in place, looking uneasily at the scenario playing out before them. "You men!" Curry called to them. "You want to blow your chances to ever be free men by goin' along with Hardin?"

Hardin fired a shot at Curry's feet; it kicked up dirt but missed his work boots.

"I don't like you much, Jones," Hardin said. "But this ain't yer fight. Me 'n Hutch here," he motioned to the terrified guard," have been squarin' off against each other since day one. Now it's payback."

Hardin turned back to the guard, who hadn't moved from where he was splayed on the wet ground. "Please," Hutch begged. "I can't stop ya from runnin', but you don't need to shoot me."

Hardin hesitated, then a nasty smile spread across his face. "Well that's ain't exactly true. I _do_ need to shoot ya. It's been building for a long time."

Hardin's back was to him, and Curry knew this is was his only chance. He threw himself face forward onto Hardin's legs; Hardin didn't expect the attack; he grunted and fell to the ground, quickly turning over on his back and lashing at Curry with the rifle barrel. It connected with Curry's cheek, and Kid winced. He managed to get his right hand around Hardin' neck and began pulling his hair as hard as he could. Hardin shrieked and tried to pull free, but Curry was pulling with his other hand at the rifle barrel. The two men rolled over each other several times before Curry emerged on top. He butted Hardin on the head with his own forehead, and Hardin collapsed.

Gasping for breath, Curry slowly straightened. He head hurt like the devil, and his hands were shaking. He carefully took the rifle from Hardin's limp fingers and got to his feet.

He realized blood was dripping down his face as he turned toward the other five men in the crew. "So what are you men gonna do?" he asked roughly. "You gonna run and blow your futures? Or are you gonna help me put things to right here."

A short muscular man named O'Malley carefully got to his feet. "Tell me what ya want me to do," he said. "My big break was bein' sent here. I'm no fool to want to go back to the stir."

The other men looked at each other and one by one nodded agreement.

"Anybody else hurt?" Curry asked.

One man had a twisted ankle; another had thrown his shoulder out.

"Feel like I been tossed in a twister," Ramirez said with a shrug. "Hurt all over, but I can move."

Curry sent two of the men to find the horses, which had broken free of their halters. He sent another man in search of the driver. Curry knelt down beside Hutch and handed him the rifle.

"This belongs to you," he said flatly.

Hutch stared at him in astonishment, which turned to gratitude. "I owe ya my life, Jones," he said as Curry carefully pulled him out from the underbrush. Hutch winced as his leg moved.

"It's broke."

Curry nodded. "I know how to set a leg, but I think it'd be better if we loaded you on the wagon and had the camp doc take care of things, dontcha think?"

Hutch gritted his teeth in agreement. They both looked up as Connor and Thomas appeared back at the overturned wagon, carrying the driver between them. "He hit his head on somethin'," Connor reported. "But he's alive."

They lay the driver next to Hutch as O'Malley pitched in to help Curry right the wagon. "What happened to all the logs?" wondered Thomas.

"Went every which way," Curry said. "We can get'em later."

Thomas sighed. "All our hard work."

Curry grinned. "You're doin' pretty _good_ work right now, dontcha think?"

A slow smile spread across the man's face. "Reckon I'm doin' the right thing for once in my miserable life. That's for sure."

Curry looked up in relief as Blackman arrived with one of the two horses. "He's all I could find," he reported. "The other must still be headin' down the mountain. This one's reins got caught up in some trees."

In short order they loaded up the injured guard and driver and hitched the one horse back up to the battered wagon. Curry tied up Hardin with some spare rope, and threw him unceremoniously in the back with the other men. Luckily the wagon wheels were still functioning; even so, Curry guided the horse very slowly down along a cut through the trees which he knew would eventually bring them back to the camp.

Their arrival caused a minor uproar. Other guards hurried over with drawn rifles and surrounded the wagon; Curry and the others immediately raised up their arms.

"They done good," Hutch said weakly from where he was lying in the back of the wagon. "You can put your guns down."

Carlton came out of his office to see what had happened. "Someone get the Doc," he ordered, and one of the guards hurried off. Other prisoners clustered around and watched the goings-on.

Carlton motioned to the cutting team still sitting anxiously in the wagon. "You men, report to the barracks and stay there until I've sorted things out. I'll send the doc to look you over once we've taken care of my men."

It was nightfall by the time things had sorted themselves out. After the doctor had cleaned up his face and poured on a dose of iodine for good measure, Curry found himself summoned to Carlton's office.

Carlton came around the desk and extended his hand. "I want to thank you for saving my men," he said warmly.

Curry grasped the offered hand. "All the crew pitched in," he said.

Carlton nodded. "But you were the one who brought Hardin down. Just so you know, he's on his way to state prison, where I expect him to stay a good many more years."

Curry nodded. He'd been thinking about what Hardin tried to do, and couldn't figure out why a man would risk such a fate when he'd been offered a much better deal at the camp.

"You could have escaped," Carlton said suddenly.

"Yes sir, I suppose. But I wasn't going to do that. It would have been foolishness."

"And your partner is counting on you."

Curry shrugged. "We're countin' on each other."

Carlton motioned Curry to take a seat, and he perched on the edge of his desk. "You know I've been reading your mail," he said, and Curry nodded. "I'm sorry, but it's part of the regulations."

"Yes sir. I know that. No offense taken."

Carlton smiled briefly. "And that means I've figured out that your cousin is having his own share of a pretty tough time."

Curry couldn't meet Carlton's sympathetic stare. He shrugged. "Joshua's strong."

"But you're worrying about him."

"Of course, sir. But there's not much I can do from way out here, is there?"

Carlton stood and began pacing around his cluttered office, reminding Curry sadly of his restless partner. "Tell you what, Jones. There's not much I can do either, except say thank you for what you did up on the mountain. I'll make sure to put a notation in your records. Not many men would have done the same. But one thing I can offer that _might_ be a help: I'll let you write and receive letters twice a month instead of just once. Would that be a useful?"

Curry's eyes lit up. "Sir, I can't tell you how much! You see, I'm worryin' about him and…." He stopped before he said something he might regret. "And knowin' Joshua, he's worrying a heap about me. So more letters would be just about perfect, sir."

Carlton smiled. "Then consider it done."

**November**

_Joshua! Surprise! You're gonna start getting' a letter every two weeks from now on, after I did the super a favor. So I expect you to bother Miss Agnes more too, okay? The weather is getting too wet and cold to get much work done. We're finishing up stripping off the bark from what we've logged and we're hauling it down to the barges which have moved up river. Don't know how the boats don't sink after all we load onto them, but the lumber foreman don't seem worried and with each day there's less and left wood left in the yard. We're told they're closing down soon for winter. We're to be moved somewhere else to work; I'll let you know soon as I find out. Hope it won't be too hard on my back! Glad to hear you're doing good. Stay warm. Thaddeus_

**December **

Heyes was seated at a worktable with four other men, busily stringing berries and red beads into a long rope of evergreen. It was the Institute's contribution to the upcoming Christmas concert at the town hall. Whoever wanted to go was invited; Heyes hadn't decided if he was ready yet to venture out in public.

Meanwhile, some young girls from the nearby music school were doing their best to play Christmas carols on the piano. Tea was being served at the side table, along with fresh baked Christmas cookies. Heyes was feeling actually cheerful as he suddenly smelled perfume and a hand snaked around his head and plopped a peppermint drop in his mouth.

"Merry Christmas, Joshua."

Heyes turned around and grinned at the blurry shape of who he knew was Clementine Hale. "Clem!" he exclaimed.

She bent down and kissed him on the lips. "Yum," she teased. "Peppermint kisses."

"Who's yer lady friend, Josh?" teased Pete from where he was working next to him.

Heyes released Clem's lips. "An old friend, boys. Just an old friend."

"Not so very old," Clem pouted, and the men at the table laughed.

Heyes got to his feet and took her by the arm. "Let's sit down on one of the couches," he invited, and led her across the familiar room to a seating area in the corner. He couldn't see her thoughtful frown.

"So how are ya, Clem?" he asked. "It's been too long."

"Well if you must know, Mr. Smith, I accepted the invitation of a very rich gentleman to join him in Paris. I've been there the last several months."

"Paris, huh? I'll bet you got him to buy you a bunch of nice dresses," Heyes teased.

Clem kissed him again on the mouth. "That…and more. Which is _none_ of your sweet business."

Heyes swallowed the rest of the peppermint and took her hand in his. "How'd you know where to find me?"

He heard Clem straightening her skirts, and felt a momentary pang that he couldn't look into her merry eyes. "When I got back to New York City I wired Lom." He felt her fingers tighten around his hand. "He told me what happened. Oh Heyes…I mean Joshua….I'm so sorry."

Heyes didn't know what to say. "Nothin' to be done for it," he finally answered, and ran his thumb over her fingers. He heard her sniffle, and stroked her familiar hair. "Clem, really. It's all right."

He heard a delicate nose blowing. "I saw Kid," she announced abruptly.

Heyes wished he could grab her and look into her green eyes. He contented himself with clutching both shoulders and staring at the fuzz that had to be her face. "And? How'd you manage that? How is he?"

She giggled. "Slow down, Joshua. Kid's fine. Truly."

"How'd you get permission to visit him?"

"I wrote a VERY persuasive letter to the camp superintendent. Lom gave me his name. It turns out he's a very sweet man. When I explained that you are Thaddeus's only relative and that you're…indisposed…and that I'm the closest next thing to a relative you've ever had…he allowed me to visit over Thanksgiving as a family member."

"Thanksgiving! That was more'n two weeks ago! Why didn't you come sooner?"

"I had something I couldn't avoid doing in San Francisco. I came here as soon as it was finished."

"Something?"

She swatted him playfully. "None of your business, Joshua Smith. But I'm here now. I thought it would be good for you to have visitor over the holidays. I know how much you hate Christmas."

They were quiet for a moment as another little girl took her place at the piano and started fingering "Silent Night."

Heyes didn't find the carol soothing. "So?" he asked impatiently. "How's….Thaddeus?"

"Will you believe me if I tell you he's actually quite well? He looks real good and is as handsome as ever, even in those ugly gray clothes they make him wear." Heyes rolled his eyes at her detour of his question. "Let's see. He says he's not getting as much food as he'd like, but enough to get by." Heyes laughed. "And he says they're working him hard but that they're not nasty. He doesn't have to wear any restraints, like they do in prison. He told me to tell you he's obeying all the rules and for you not to worry." Heyes felt as she tightened her hold on his hand. "He told me to tell you he misses you and hopes you're well."

Heyes kissed her forehead. "You can see I'm fine."

"Yes, Joshua," she said softly. "_I_ can see you're fine. What can _you_ see? Really?"

Heyes stiffened.

"Don't lie to me, Hannibal Heyes," she whispered fiercely. "Don't you ever lie to me. You never have unless it was one of your schemes. Is _this_ one of your schemes, like Kid told me it is? Kid told me you were faking it."

Heyes bowed his head. "No," he said softly. "It isn't a scheme. And I'm not faking. I can't see."

She put her arms around him. "Oh, Heyes. I don't know what to say."

"I can see light. And some shapes. But everything's blurry," he confessed.

"Why doesn't Thaddeus know? I think he desperately wants to believe you're fine…but he suspects you're not."

"Clem," Heyes said urgently, "you are _not_ to tell him this. I don't want him worrying about me any more than he is. I'll tell him when the time comes."

"Which will be…?"

"Six more months," Heyes said firmly. "Six more months until Kid works out his sentence and the Governor lets them release me, as well."

"Surely you're not a prisoner here, Joshua! Can't you leave any time you want to?"

Heyes laughed bitterly. "Oh, they may say I can leave any time. But where would I go? And the governor made it clear that if Kid doesn't toe the line, he wants me where he can find me. So here I sit."

"Is it awful for you, Joshua?"

Heyes fiddled with her finger, pausing when he encountered an intriguing ring with a large stone. "It was at first," he confessed. "I almost…." He took a steadying breath…"I almost decided to quit on life. But Lom talked some sense into me. And I thought about it pretty hard and decided to take a chance on the future."

"I'm glad," Clem whispered. "This world is nicer with Joshua Smith in it."

Heyes smiled and kissed her lips. "Want some tea?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. "It's on me."

"Sure! And bring me a cookie."

Heyes felt Clem's eyes on him as he walked over to the side table and took a serving of tea and cookies. He was confident enough with his movements to know he wouldn't make a fool of himself, but he knew he probably didn't move as easily as he'd done when he could still see. He returned to the couch and Clem took the serving from him.

"Aren't you having any?"

Heyes rejoined her, enjoying the brush of her skirts against his trousers. He hadn't been with a woman he was attracted to in a long, long time. "I already had your peppermint! That'll hold me until supper."

They sat companionably for a few minutes, listening as the little girl moved on to "Oh Holy Night."

"There's a concert this Sunday," Heyes finally said abruptly. "I wasn't planning to go. Didn't wanna….didn't wanna feel people starin' at me."

"If they stare, it's only because you're so handsome," Clem teased, and ran her fingers through the dark hair she loved. "I'm glad your hair's grown back."

"Yeah. " Heyes blushed. "About the concert…."

"Are you asking me to be your date?" Clem asked with a smile.

"Will you go with me and a bunch of other blind fellows?"

"Joshua Smith, I would be honored."

She sealed it with a lingering kiss.

**January **

_Joshua_, Curry's familiar scrawl greeted. _They shut down the lumber camp now that it's snowing. I've been moved to a dairy farm outside of Harristown in western Colorado. They sent some of the other men to a factory in Denver, but I told'em I'd rather be outside breathing fresh air. So now I'm spending my days with a bunch of fat cows. But it ain't so bad. _Heyes chuckled as Miss Agnes paused to take a dainty sip from her tea. Miss Agnes hadn't told him, but she loved being part of the letter exchange between Mr. Smith and his interesting cousin. They both seemed to have such nice senses of humor, and clearly cared about each other. It was too bad they were so far apart. She knew of Thaddeus Jones' special circumstance, but kept the confidential information as her secret.

_I'm trying to follow all the new rules here, and reckon it's working out. Plenty of milk to drink at least! It's kind of cold, but so far not too much snow. Thanks for the latest book. I've taken to reading to some of the fellows that don't know how. Now stop your laughing! I can hear you, Joshua! _Heyes grinned. Curry was right; it WAS a good chuckle to imagine his partner doing what was normally _his _job. _Anyway, it's pretty good here, so don't you be worrying. They let me ride the fence line each week, and the countryside is pretty. You'd like it here. Clem told me she was going to spend some time with you over Christmas. I hope it was fun. She was sure nice to come all the way to camp to visit me last month. I didn't tell you about it before becuz I wanted her to surprise you. My holiday wasn't nothing special, but it wasn't awful neither. We got treated to roast beef and some kind of pudding. Only thing missing was a glass of whiskey, and you. You keep learning things, partner, so you can show off to me when we meet up again. We're half way there._

Heyes was smiling as Miss Agnes folded the letter and handed it to him for safekeeping. Heyes wondered what Kid _wasn't_ saying; he knew the camp supervisors read all his letters. Curry was limited to just one page, but he managed to put a lot of himself into what he wrote, and Heyes was grateful. He hadn't heard from Curry in over a month. He hoped the farm boss would let Curry send and receive letters every two weeks instead of every month, as the previous superintendent did.

"There's a new address on the envelope," Miss Agnes said, and he heard her skirts rustle as she stood up to leave. "You don't want to be losing it."

"No ma'am," Heyes said. "I'm keepin' all his letters. And thank you for readin' it so nice."

Miss Agnes blushed. Such as handsome young man!

The bell rang to announce supper was ready, but Heyes' thoughts were still on his partner as he made his way to the dining hall. He was thinking of Curry's last words; six more months. It seemed a long time, but when he reckoned that it also meant half the time of Curry's imprisonment was over, that sounded like a good thing. He was proud of how Kid seemed to be handling himself. So far he hadn't gotten into trouble, and had even done some brave things. Heyes himself wasn't feeling so brave lately, continuing to conceal his true condition from his partner.

Suddenly Heyes didn't feel much like eating. He veered toward the door leading to the back field, grabbing one of the canes that were always left at a door side. He'd found them useful in preventing missteps when going longer distances in the open; he wanted to walk over to the barn and clear his head.

When he stepped outside, he could feel it was snowing; wet flakes clung to his hair and melted on his cheeks, and he raised his head happily to enjoy the frosty wetness. The horses snorted a greeting as he pushed open the stable door. "Hiram?" he called out. 'You in here?"

He heard a noise from the small back room where Hiram slept most nights, and then the creaking of a wooden door. "What's yer hurry?" he asked crossly. "I was takin' a nap."

"How can you nap when it's snowing?" Heyes grinned. "It's beautiful!"

"It's damn cold," Hiram grumbled. "Gets to an old man like me."

"You ain't so old, Hiram," Heyes teased. "You're just cranky."

Heyes walked over to Molly and rubbed her nose. "I'd like to take her for a little ride," he said. "You mind?"

"Hell no, as long as you don't want _me_ to ride with ya." Hiram had learned to trust Heyes' ability to handle a horse on his own. The property was fenced, after all, and Molly knew her way around the paths, even if Heyes couldn't see them. There were no trees or obstructions along the way.

"Thanks. You stay inside." Heyes threw the gear onto the willing mare, noticing how much more quickly he was able to do the task compared to his first stumbling weeks on the job. He pulled himself easily into the saddle, and nudged Molly to the door, which Hiram obligingly held open for him. The mare snorted as the flakes flew into her eyes, but willingly obeyed Heyes' nudge to her sides.

"Lead on, girl," he said softly. "Once around the grounds."

He knew the approximate direction for the circuit path, and guided her far enough that the horse understood his intentions. Heyes had ridden Molly a lot over the past three months; they'd figured out each other's quirks and were a good team. He'd quickly learned his way around the stable, helping Hiram maintain the gear and groom the horses. It gave Heyes some hope that once he left the Institute he'd find some way to resume at least part of his previous life.

The harder he worked at it….at the simple tasks of cleaning, eating, shaving; learning to read again; doing work he was skilled at and truly enjoyed…the more he was glad he'd made the decision not to give up on his life.

**March**

Curry had nodded off despite the bouncing of the wagon, and straightened when he heard the driver call out to the guard at the main gate. Lumber Camp 12. Back where he'd begun. It was cold and overcast, and snow still dotted the ground. Curry shivered; even his flannel jacket wasn't warm enough to keep the wind out, but he knew he'd warm up soon enough pulling that long saw . Curry sighed, but thought it was better to be back here than getting up before dawn to milk all those cows. They drove through the gate, and after it swung shut the driver unlocked the chains that shackled them to the side of the wagon and ordered them to get down.

"Those of you who've been here know the routine," he said. "You new men, follow the others to the barracks and get squared away. You'll get your job assignments in the morning."

Curry was called into Carlton's office after an early breakfast. He stood in the required polite posture and wondered what was wanted of him. Carlton looked up from his papers and came around the desk with a smile.

"I received a very positive report from the farm manager," he said.

"Thank you, sir," Curry said. "And I wanted to thank you for tellin' him it was okay by you if I wrote letters more'n just once a month."

"Glad it worked out for you. I'm changing your job, Jones. No more tree cutting. I'm gonna have you work at the loading dock with the foreman. I've seen you're good working with crews, keepin' them to the task. You know, after your time here is up, you might want to think about finding work in the timber industry. There's plenty to be had, both here and in the Sierras out in California."

Curry was surprised at the praised. "Thank you, sir! I'll think on it."

**April **

Nurse Jenny was reading the newspaper in the common room. It had started to rain, and Heyes was more focused on the splatter of raindrops against the windows than he was about the latest budget report from Washington. His mind kept wrestling with the question of why he hadn't heard from Kid for over four weeks. He figured his cousin might have been moved to a new labor camp now that spring had come, but he should have heard _something _from him by now. And he had no way to contact his friend except to bother Lom, and he was hesitant to do that. Lom was already doing so much for them; taking care of the horses, letting their friends know what was going with them. He hated to bother him with something that might be resolved by the next mail delivery.

"Oh dear," he heard Jenny exclaim. "There's been a terrible flood on the Santos River."

Heyes sat up. The Santos was down the valley from the lumber camp. Agnes had patiently described a map to him one afternoon after finishing writing a letter for him to send to Kid; Heyes had a pretty good feel for the valley she had sketched out for him; he'd ridden through it a couple of times when he was still leading the gang.

"The Santos River overflowed its banks last week, inundating the town of Peaksville. Residents fled the city, but not before several structures were washed away with the river," Jenny continued to read. "Oh dear. Inmates from a nearby forest camp were brought in to help build a temporary levee to try to save some of the farmland. Several were swept away to their deaths." Jenny gave a soft tsk. "Let us pray for their souls," she said piously.

Heyes raised his hand, his heart in his throat. "Nurse Jenny?"

"Yes, Mr. Smith?"

"Does the newspaper list any of the men who died?"

He heard a rustle of paper. "Yes! Here it is two pages later. Henry Wilcox, James Streeter, Philip Winslowe, Emilio Detaglio, Thaddeus Jones, and …"

Heyes stopped listening. No! Kid couldn't….couldn't! His mind reeled with a flurry of disconnected thoughts, and he was only vaguely aware of the other men in the room gathering up their things and heading to afternoon chores. Heyes was frozen, refusing to believe what Jenny read, but yet deep down he felt it must be true. That would explain the longer-than-usual delay in receiving a letter. Why hadn't Lom told him? Maybe the superintendent hadn't told _him_?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Smith. You're expected in the kitchen."

He looked up at the sound of the voice and couldn't move. He realized his hands were clutching the side of the chair, and he'd closed his eyes trying to erase the image of a drowning Kid in his mind.

"Are you all right?" It was Charlie. "You look like you've had a shock."

Heyes got shakily to his feet, and shook his head mutely. He thought his knees were going to collapse under him. Kid gone! How could his _own_ life go on without his partner by his side? Out of pure habit he made his way to the kitchen and tied on the apron. He walked over to the worktable and felt the bowl of carrots needing to be peeled, and numbly reached for one. Charlie stepped away, satisfied.

His hands wouldn't obey him as he reached for the knife and felt its heft in his hand. He felt like he was doing his own kind of drowning; a rush of memories poured over him; quick images of the Kid's face….as a four year old chasing the family dog….as a nine-year old reeling from the deaths of his entire family….as a fifteen year old, drawing down his first gunman. The images whirled so dizzily before his eyes, he couldn't grasp onto even one and try to hold it for comfort. He saw a torrent of water in his mind, dark, frothing water, carrying Jed away; his fingers reached out frantically to grab onto his cousin and pull him to safety, but Jed was pulled under.

Heyes held the knife in his hand and knew what he had to do. The pain he felt was unbearable. Without Kid there was no point in going on; no one to share his life with; no one who gave a damn if he lived or died. He prayed to a god he didn't really believe in that he'd meet Jed on the other side, and without hesitation thrust the knife into his chest. He heard the man next to him shout out, and then he sank into the deepest dark he'd ever known.

Kid opened his eyes to the surprise of sunlight pouring through a window. He realized he was lying on a cot in a room with other cots. He glanced cautiously around him, and saw a man lying next to him, his arm in a sling. Curry raised himself shakily on his elbows. There had been rushing water. He'd reached for a rope. Then his mouth filled with silt and mud.

A rustle of skirts announced the arrival of a nurse. "Lay back down, Mr. O'Brian," she said gently. "You've had quite an ordeal."

_O'Brian?_ Kid tried to sort out his situation, but his head felt muddled, as if he'd gone without sleep for a week. But he was in a cot, so he must have gotten some rest.

"You've been unconscious for a few days," the nurse went on to explain. "You went under water and struck your head on something; one of the other rescue workers pulled you to safety. I fear you swallowed a lot of dirty water and you've been quite sick to your stomach."

Curry remembered none of it. He lay back and closed his eyes briefly.

"Here, Mr. O"Brian," the nurse said as she lifted a cup of water to his lips. "You need to drink this. The doctor will be by when he has a moment. He'll be very glad you're awake."

Curry reached out a hand towards her, and caught her apron. "Wait," he gasped. "You called me O'Brian. That ain't my name. I'm Cu….Jones. Thaddeus Jones."

The nurse frowned and checked the chart hanging at the foot of the bed. "It says here you are Edward O'Brian."

Curry tried a smile. "Ma'am, excuse me, but I think I know my name." He sighed. "I'm one of the men from the work camp. One of the…prisoners."

Her eyes widened, and he saw her fingers tighten on the papers.

"Don't worry, ma'am. I ain't gonna hurt ya. Just thought you should know. Maybe you can reach the sheriff or someone? I don't want them to think I've run away."

She looked flustered, and reached down to straighten his blanket for wont of something practical to do. "To be sure," she said quickly. "I'll see to it immediately."

Heyes felt terrible pain; his chest was throbbing and on fire; his brain was trying to wake up to see what the soft murmurings around him were all about, but he didn't want to let it. He ordered himself to sink back into the darkness where it was quiet and he wouldn't feel so empty inside. He didn't understand much about where he was or what was happening, but he remembered one thing only too clear: Kid was dead, and Heyes didn't want to go on living. He remembered the knife. It hadn't done the job.

"Mr. Smith. Joshua," he heard a woman's soft voice urging, and he felt a cup placed to his lips. He twisted his mouth away from it. He didn't want help. He didn't want to get better. He wanted it to be over.

"Please, Joshua," the voice entreated. "You must try."

"No," he murmured. "Let me go."

He tried to push the hand away, but his arms were restricted. He sighed. He must be tied down. It seemed someone was always trying to shackle and chain him. No more. Enough.

Later. Another voice, deeper. "C'mon, Josh. Wake up there. It can't be all that bad you wanna say goodbye to livin." He realized it was Hiram. He felt a twinge of remorse that the old cowboy was so upset.

"Sorry," he murmured. "No."

He drifted off again; in his sleep his eyes were open and he could see; a beautiful valley bisected with a flowing river; ragged peaks pierced the sky, and an eagle flew overhead. He watched the eagle circling, and felt irrationally that the giant bird had come to take him away. He tried to reach up for it, marveling at the powerful spread of the bird's wings; he, too, wanted to fly, to soar. But he was tied to the ground.

He felt a stab of disappointment when he opened his eyes and saw the blurry world of his recent past. He'd never wanted to open his eyes again.

"He's conscious," he heard a woman's voice say. Was it Jenny?

He must have mouthed her name, for the next thing he was aware of was a cool cloth wiping his forehead and then another cup being pressed between his lips. Stubbornly, he turned away. His chest throbbed, and he felt a bandage wrapped around him.

Then he heard a man's voice. A doctor? "I don't know what more I can do for him if he refuses to help himself. The wound won't heal if he continues to weaken."

"Damn his stubbornness."

That sounded like Lom. Heyes closed his eyes and tried to turn into the pillow. He sensed Lom hovering over him.

"Joshua! I know you're awake. You gotta listen to me."

Heyes shook his head. "Go away. I'm tired." His words were barely wisps of air.

"Listen, Joshua," Lom said forcefully, and Heyes realized Lom was sitting next to him leaning right into his ear. "I'm going up to Peakstown. The sheriff wired that there's been a mix-up. Someone thought another man was Thaddeus. I was heading up there when I heard about your damn fool stunt. Listen, Thaddeus is NOT dead. I'm gonna go see him for myself. Can you believe me?"

Heyes felt a spark of hope, and then let it die. Lom was fooling him; he wanted to build him back up so he couldn't sink into the darkness. He shook his head. He wasn't buying it. "Go away."

He heard Lom get to his feet, and then two voices from across the room. "Keep him alive, Doc," Lom's voice said. "He's the stubbornest man on god's earth, and I need to prove to him what he thinks is true…ain't."

"I'll do what I can," the other voice said. "But it's a deep wound. You'd better hurry."

Curry was sitting on a chair outside the barracks. The men had just finished supper, and for once he wasn't on cleanup duty. He inhaled the fresh smell of pine; even though he was spending twelve hours a day cutting and sawing it, he still liked the smell. A shadow crossed his face and he was startled to see Lom Trevors standing before him.

"Lom!" he started to smile, but the exhaustion on his friend's face and the dark circles under his eyes stopped him. Curry jumped to his feet. "Is it…Joshua? What's happened?"

Lom quickly sketched out what Heyes had done. The blood rushed from Curry's face, and he clutched Lom by the shoulders.

"That idiot!" shouted, and lowered his voice when he saw several of the other workers stop what they were doing and stare.

"Sit down, sit down," Lom urged, and joined him on the porch. "Heyes is hurtin' real bad; he don't wanna live. And the Doc says he ain't sure he can prevent him from doin' what his mind is so set on."

Curry's eyes filled with despair. "Can I go see him, Lom? Please? I've done everything they've asked of me; I have a real good record. He needs to see me. Please?"

Lom shook his head regretfully. "I'm really sorry, Kid. I already asked. The answer is no."

Kid hung his head, and his fists clenched. "We can never cut a break, can we Lom? And now Heyes is so damn stubborn, he'll go ahead and die."

Lom patted him on the wrist. "He loves you, Kid. It's that simple. And that maddening. He doesn't want to live without you."

Curry felt tears well up, and wiped them angrily. "I gotta be able to do SOMETHIN'! Tell me what I can do?"

Lom unfolded a piece of paper from his jacket. "You can write him a letter which I will deliver personally."

Curry looked at the paper doubtfully. "How's this gonna help? He'll say someone else wrote it."

"I know." A faint smile crossed Lom's tired face. "So you gotta put something in there that only you and he know. Somethin' so very personal that he'll know only you could have wrote it. There will be no doubts."

Heyes felt a movement of air across his face, and tried to turn away from it. He was very weak; the pain in his chest was a constant, but he refused to ask the doctor for anything to take it away. He was beginning to sink into it and float away, and he welcomed the sensation. When they tried to force liquids in him, he spat them out. He was nothing if not stubborn.

"Joshua, it is I. Agnes."

Heyes turned towards the familiar high-pitched voice, and smelled her familiar scent of lavender water. Agnes had always been so kind to him, writing his letters, reading Kid's. "Agnes," he whispered.

He heard a paper rustle. "I've been asked to read you this letter. It's from Thaddeus. Joshua, I recognize his handwriting."

Heyes shook his head weakly. "I ain't gonna fall for it, Agnes. Sorry to trouble you."

Agnes patted his hand, which was still bound to the side of the bed. "Nonetheless," he heard her slightly prim voice, "you will listen as I read. You will do me that courtesy."

_Joshua! I know you think I'm dead, but I'm not. Gotta say, though, I came real close. The water pulled me down and I thought I was a goner. I thought of you as the mud filled my mouth. I thought I couldn't do this to you, leave you alone like you are. I pushed real hard at the water, and suddenly there was a rope. I breathed air again. I got banged around a mite, but I'm fine now. Josh, you must believe me. I know you think it's a trick…like those grand plans a certain outlaw leader was famous for. But it's me being square with you. I wanna shake you and yell some reason into ya. I am not dead! Can ya believe this? So here's what will prove that it's me writin' this and no one else. When we were kids on a hot summer day we sneaked off to the creek. It was the day the raiders came. But we didn't know that. We only knew it was summer and there were frogs to find and a fishing line to throw out. We sat by the creek and you pulled out a rusty old knife and you cut yourself in your hand. You bled somethin' fierce, but you said it didn't hurt much. And then you cut me. And we smeared our blood together and became brothers. You still got that scar, and so do I. I want you to feel that scar now, do it for me! Imagine me pressing my hand against yours and pushing whatever life's blood I got in me back into your stubborn body. I love ya, Joshua. Trust me. Don't give up._

Heyes suddenly gasped as though he'd been holding his breath for a very long time. Sobs pushed up in his chest, and he let the tears flow gratefully down his cheeks. Kid _was _alive! Only the two of them knew about that afternoon by the creek, the horrific afternoon that turned their lives inside out and made them the men they became. He felt Agnes' soft hand stroking his forehead, encouraging him to cry himself out. When he felt a cup of water being brought to his mouth, this time he opened his lips and took a deep swallow; it was like a river pouring life back into his body. He felt someone untying his wrists, and he lifted his hand weakly to find Agnes's and gave it a squeeze

"Thank you," he whispered.

"No more foolishness?" she asked gently. Her finger traced the palm of his hand, where he knew the scar was still visible.

He shook his head. "No, Miss Agnes. I'll be good."

**April**

_Thaddeus- they've allowed me to go back to my chores now that I'm feeling better. Lucky me. Actually I guess I am real lucky, having a partner like you to shout some sense at me. You're getting' good at writing, Thaddeus. Must be all this practice this last year. I've gotten real good at reading now; McCreedy has been seeing to it that I get books regular, which is real generous of him. One of the mares delivered a colt last week; me and Hiram had to handle things cuz it happened late at night and the animal doctor couldn't get here in time. It was something fantastic, let me tell you. All the sounds and smells and sweetness of the little guy. Made me appreciate being alive all over again. So don't you worry none about me. I've come to my senses. We're just two months away from walking through the gates together. I wouldn't mess that up for all the safes on the Western Railroad. Joshua. _

**May **

Heyes stepped into the familiar examining room waited. "Sir?" he asked, when he wasn't greeted as expected by the doctor.

"Dr. Teasdale isn't here right now," an unfamiliar voice said, and Heyes turned in the direction of the sound.

"I'm sorry then, sir," Heyes said politely. "I must have misunderstood the time of the appointment."

He heard a creak as the man stood up from the chair he'd been sitting on. Heyes felt the man approaching him, and felt a distinct sense of unease.

"So, we finally meet, Hannibal Heyes."

Heyes stiffened. "I'm Joshua Smith, sir. I believe you're…."

The man interrupted him with an unpleasant laugh. "No, I know exactly who you are. It's me who put you here. I'm Governor Atherton."

Heyes clenched the hat he was holding in his hand. "I'm honored," he said, hoping the bitterness he felt wasn't evident in his voice.

"You know you're year is up soon, don't you?" the governor asked.

_Next month, you bastard, _Heyes thought to himself, but simply nodded. "We've done everything we promised, sir," Heyes said firmly, trying hard to maintain his respectful tone.

Heyes backed up reflexively as he felt something move across his vision; it felt like the governor was waving his hand in front of him. "On the condition you're not pulling one of your notorious scams, Heyes. Are you really blind? Can I be satisfied the exploits of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry have really come to an end? I'd hate to be embarrassed after agreeing to your release." Heyes heard as Atherton stepped away. "Come here to the window so I can look at you better."

Heyes clenched his teeth at the man's arrogant tone, and took two steps forward. Suddenly his shoe collided unexpectedly with a ball on the floor. He lost his balance and tumbled to the floor, falling awkwardly on his knees and slamming his hands onto the floor to try to stop his head from colliding with hardwood.

He caught his breath and got slowly back to his feet, groping for the edge of the doctor's desk he knew was nearby to steady himself.

"Well, well," the governor said smoothly. "It appears Hannibal Heyes is indeed a blind man."

Heyes ordered himself to stay calm. Too much could be at stake here. Kid was still in custody; he himself was still behind locked gates. Heyes took a careful breath.

"Yes sir," he said softly. "As your little test shows, I cannot see."

He heard the sound of cloth rustling and imagined the governor straightening his jack. Then he saw a large fuzzy shape step back in front of him as the governor leaned close to his face, peering into his eyes. Heyes tried not to pull away in disgust.

"Well, well," the governor said again, and moved to the door. "Well, well." He gave another unpleasant laugh. "It looks like you'll be serving a life sentence no matter what papers I sign. You've just made my day."

The door closed and Heyes sagged against the wall in relief.

**June**

He was sitting in the common room by the window, trying to stay focused on the newest book the publisher had sent over; it was an entertaining tale by Jules Verne, but Heyes was having a hard time paying attention as he moved his fingers delicately over the raised bumps. He kept thinking of the next week, when Curry's sentence would be finished and they'd both be free men. Amnesty! He could hardly believe the day was upon them. He kept trying to push away the fear that something, something would happen and destroy his hopes.

He heard the door open and then footsteps, and looked instinctively over at the source of the noise. "Can I help you?" he asked politely.

A shape moved toward him, and the footsteps drew closer. Heyes felt a prickling at the back of his neck, and slowly got to his feet. There was something familiar….

A pair of strong arms grabbed him and brought him to a tight hug. "Heyes," his cousin whispered fiercely. "Heyes."

Heyes' moved his fingers along Kid's arms in disbelief, and then joined him in the hug. "Kid!" he almost shouted. "How'd you get here?"

Curry didn't answer, crushing him to his jacket. They clung together for several moments, neither wanting to let go. Heyes felt Kid's tears on his neck, and patted his back wordlessly.

Then Curry stepped back and looked intently at his partner, still holding him by the shoulders, and nodded as if to himself. "You wouldn't tell me, would ya?" he asked softly. "You wouldn't tell me you really couldn't see, even though deep inside I think I knew it."

Heyes hung his head. "I didn't want to worry you. You had enough to handle."

"As if _you_ didn't?" Curry crushed his partner back to his chest. "Oh, Heyes. Why do you always have to try to take care of me?"

They sat back down at the table. Curry eyed Heyes' book curiously, but they had other things to talk about. He told Heyes about how the superintendent decided to release him a week early as a small reward for Curry's good behavior. Lom had met him outside the camp gates and brought him into White River. They'd booked rooms for the night and then headed to the Institute to pick up Heyes.

"Lom's signing the papers with Teasdale," Curry informed him. "You ready to come with us?" He wished Heyes could see his smile. Instead he patted his cousin on the arm. He thought about how close he'd come to losing him.

Heyes' grin was ear to ear, and Curry thrilled to see the familiar sparkle in his eyes. "Do you have to ask? But I should say some goodbyes and thank yous. Some of the folks here have been real helpful." He stood up. "And I'd kinda like to show you where I've been doin' my time."

"Sure thing. Lead on."

Curry was impressed at Heyes' familiarity with his surroundings. He reached out his arm for his cousin to hold on to, but quickly saw it wasn't necessary. Heyes showed him the dining hall and other public rooms. Curry peeked into the kitchen as they walked by and saw dinner preparations were underway. He watched some of the residents carefully preparing the meal, and tried to picture Heyes performing the same tasks. It was hard to imagine.

"I wanna show you the stable. And say goodbye to Molly."

Heyes pushed open the door to the pasture as Curry scratched his head. "Molly? You got a girl, here, Heyes?"

Molly whinnied in greeting as the partners entered the tidy stable. "Ah," Curry said, enlightened, as Heyes walked over to the stall and petted the mare's forelock.

"I'm gonna miss you, girl," he said softly. Molly nuzzled his shirt and Heyes laughed. "No apple today. Sorry."

"That you, Josh?" Hiram came in carrying a bale of hale. He dropped it to the ground with a grunt, and looked at Curry curiously.

"This is my cousin Thaddeus," Heyes said by way of introduction. "I just found out I'm leavin' today, Hiram. I came to say goodbye."

The old man pulled Heyes into a gruff embrace. "You been a good hand, Josh. I'm gonna miss ya." Hiram turned to Curry. "Your cousin is a fine horseman," he told him, as if Curry didn't know. "Don't let his not bein' able to see fool ya. He knows his way around a stable just fine."

Curry shook Hiram's hand. "I'm sure he does."

"Workin' there made it tolerable," Heyes said softly after they'd finished their goodbyes and were walking back to the main building. "Without it, I would have lost myself."

Curry looked at his partner thoughtfully, and put his arm around his shoulder. "We have lotsa time to catch up on the past months," he assured him. "And I wanna hear everything." He stopped, looking around the tranquil scene. "But Heyes, you gotta hear this now, and then we ain't gonna keep talkin' about it. We're partners. And the closest thing to brothers we'll ever have." He pressed his right palm against Heyes' and they intertwined their fingers. "Nothin's gonna change this. We're stuck with each other. I don't know if you've figured out what you want to do with the rest of our lives….I know I ain't got a fixed plan, but I do have some ideas I wanna share with ya…."

"Oh yeah?" Heyes was curious.

"Yeah." There was a new firmness in his partner's voice Heyes hadn't heard before. "I know you've learned a lot here and _I'm_ gonna have to learn not to be a mother hen." He chuckled. "And _you're_ gonna have to understand that when you need my help, I'm here for ya. All my life you've taken care of me, Han. Now it's my turn to return the pleasure." He squeezed Heyes' hand. "Can we agree about this and move on?"

Heyes lightly touched Curry's face, moving his sensitive fingers along the features he knew so well; the curly hair, the soft bristles on his chin; the firm jaw. He felt nothing but determination there. And love.

Yes, he thought, and felt joy bubble up in him. They could move on.


End file.
